Wild Wolf AsoIaF version
by Vimesenthusiast
Summary: Fed up with life in Nerima, Ranma runs away, only to be followed by Happosai, who has a magic scroll he want to try out. It works, but... Ranma suddenly finds himself in Westeros, replacing the champion chosen by the old gods in a time of great peril for humanity. How will the world change with the Wild Horse raised in the den of wolves? Pairing: Ranma/Daenerys/Arianne/Margaery
1. Chapter 1

I don't own ASoIaF or Ranma 1/2. If I did the first would have come out much more quickly and the second would have much less Akane.

This is the intro/chapter 1 of my Ranma/A Song of Ice and Fire crossover. It is in both that crossover section and the A Game of Thrones section for now. The section that gets the most views will be the one I continue to use going forward, if I do. The pairing is as it says in the summary, and I will give more information about that in my ending author notes as well as explaining more about the 'if I do' part, but for now…

This version has been given the _Jessolt _touch, and is so much better it isn't even funny. Please reread it, with the amount of changes he made it really reads so much better.

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**Wild Wolf:**

**Prologue: New Life, New Family, New World**

If there was ever another straw that broke someone else's back that had the weight of that damned wedding behind it for anyone else, Ranma never wanted to hear about it. Not only had everyone attacked and turned the entire thing into a battle royal, but Akane had once again proven that she didn't really care for Ranma so much as winning the competition for him.

At first Ranma had thought that Akane was marrying him to help Ranma get the cask of Water of Drowned Man from Jusenkyou, which would've been okay. Not the greatest thing, but okay. Ranma had hoped that by this point that she might have had actual feelings for him, but that didn't seem to be the case.

No, she cared about the winning as she had told Ranma after the wedding when she blamed him for everything that had happened She hadn't even listened to his apology (When had she ever?) before attacking him, causing even more damage to the Tendo house when she smashed him through the wall across from her room.

But that would've been par for the course, and he would possibly have been able to deal with that with only a bit of anger, if not for his parents and the other Tendos. Nabiki of course blamed him for everything, despite the fact that Ranma** knew **she was the one who had sent out the invitations to all of his other so-called fiancées and rivals, hoping to milk some money from them. What money she made however was probably going to be taken away to go to the repairs of the house and dojo, which was probably the real reason Nabiki was angry at him. Of course, Genma and Soun both agreed about how it had all been his fault, which was again situation normal.

No, it had been his mother and Kasumi that were the final blows. Kasumi was for the first time ever angry and sad about the damage their house had taken. The damage to the dojo and to her mother's shrine got through her aura of imperturbability and peacefulness. She didn't blame Ranma, hell that would have been easier for Ranma to bear, he was used to **that**. No, it had been Kasumi's sighing look of utter defeat and sadness that had gotten to him. Kasumi should never have worn that expression, she was the only one in the entire house who he felt was a good person, and she put up with too much as it was.

His mother was in a way, even worse. Ranma used to have dreams about what his mother would be like; a kind, gentle woman who would talk to him, tend his wounds, hold him when he had nightmares, or talk to him gently and ruffle his hair. He thought his mother would be someone who would be proud of him, who would encourage Ranma and help him along in life. Sort of like a father was supposed to be, only good with mushy stuff and better smelling.

Nodoka was anything but. Ever since she had learned of the curse, she had been almost as bad as Genma. Always judgmental, always pushing him to be more manly (her definition seemed to change daily), and always dragging the family blade around as if to remind him what could happen to him if Ranma didn't live up to her standards. When she agreed with Genma about the fact that Ranma would have to do something about his rivals and other fiancées (including Ukyo who was completely Genma's fault) and did not even hint at helping Ranma in any way, that was it for him.

So Ranma ran. It wasn't the most honorable thing to, but at this point it was about the only thing he could do without utterly snapping and killing someone. Better to run away than have that on his conscience. He couldn't stay in that house anymore, not with people he was slowly coming to truly hate, save for Kasumi, and he couldn't look Kasumi in the eye anymore, not with that look she had after seeing her mother's shrine destroyed.

He left, leaving behind a note saying he was leaving and why, as well as leaving all the money he had saved up, which wasn't much, about ¥20,000, on Kasumi's desk in her room. He sure as hell was not going to leave it anywhere else with Nabiki in the house.

Since this wasn't the first time Ranma had run off, he knew he would be pursued and not only by his family and the Tendos. Their coming after would probably take a while once it became clear he wasn't coming back. After all they had been the ones to tell him to handle all of his different engagements before continuing with another attempt to marry Akane.

Ukyo seemed a little guilty about her part in the fiasco once it was all over, so maybe it would take a while for her to realize he was gone, and the Kunos were a nonentity as far as he was concerned, neither of them had enough intelligence to trail him or skill to bother him. Now if Ukyo was smart enough to send Kotatsu after him that could be pretty bad. Surprisingly, it was the quiet, unassuming male kunoichi who was the closest to Ranma's level among Ranma's rivals/acquaintances that lived in the district.

The Amazons however were the most dangerous and they were the ones who would be after him the quickest, and Ranma knew it. Cologne was an old crone, but despite her age there was nothing wrong with her mind. She was easily one of the most dangerous individuals in the district and one of the most capable as well. She, Shampoo, and Mousse would be after him probably within a day, and Ranma knew that his skills were not going to be enough to throw them off. _All I can do is keep going, maybe head to Europe someplace. I doubt that the Europeans would be very welcoming of the Amazons and their belief their own laws are the only ones that matter. Or maybe America, yeah that__'__s probably the better bet since I can already speak English. _(Ranma could indeed speak English, with a horrible southern accent but still…) _Heh, they all have guns don__'__t they, maybe Shampoo would get her ass shot and beaten by a random American with a gun. That__'__d be hilarious, probably wouldn__'__t happen, but still, heh._

Ranma traveled for several weeks, backtracking, looping around, and doing everything he could to throw off anyone on his trail. He did not stop, save to take very quick naps a time or two to keep his energy up until he was in Hokkaido, and there he finally allowed himself a full nights rest before trying to find a ship heading to America.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had neglected to think of Happosai. After all Happosai wouldn't normally care if Ranma ran off. The pigtailed marital artist had, after all, destroyed the old man's silky darlings several times before and had kicked his butt a time or two dozen as well. Happosai would get angry come back, fight, and then leave.

Happosai, however, did know how to keep a grudge. This time on top destroying his silky darlings, Ranma had run, something that in the school of Anything Goes was the act of a true coward. The moment the old man had sensed his chosen punching bag er apprentice running, he had gone after him swiftly, using all his skills to track the boy.

"Hehhehe, Ranma," Happosai cackled to himself as he watched the young man rent a room in a cheap hotel for the evening. "You were good, but not good enough. But I'll just stay here for a bit, no need to wake you up for this after all."

He cackled again, looking down at a scroll that he had forgotten he even had. He had found it in some old temple in the UK when he was there very briefly a century or so ago, and while he didn't understand everything about it, the monk or whoever it had been that he stole it from, had sobbed about how it was a scroll of spell of absolute binding or something, which seemed perfect to his purposes.

Happosai wasn't certain about that, since the writing on the scroll wasn't in a language he knew and he could read and speak fluent English, even old English. _ Still, it could've been a Celtic place, that was a language as well as a religion wasn't it? They were the ones who had to do with trees and stuff right? _That was what most of the church or whatever it had been was, just trees, with one huge central tree that had some kind of face carved on it.

Ranma fell asleep quickly, exhausted by his run over the last few days, and Happosai nodded. Stealthily, he slipped inside Ranma's room, lit a bit of incense then wafted the smoke over to Ranma for a few minutes, which would keep the boy asleep.

For a moment, watching Ranma continue to sleep, his body sprawled out on top of the bed, not even covered with a blanket and wearing just boxers and a tee-shirt, Happosai was tempted to just splash the boy to get a good grope in. But he had learned that Ranma's sleep-fu was a fantastic defense because, while asleep, the boy didn't hold back. Happosai had attacked him once before while he was sleeping, and a single punch from Ranma left Happosai feeling like he had been hit by a thousand Amiguriken speed punches. _Besides, why try to get in a grope now, when I can put a spell on him that will have him follow my every whim! Hah, at least four hours a day in female form, all of it wearing some of my silky darlings! Heehehehe!_

So instead, Happosai simply stood at the foot of the bed, and began to declaim aloud, trying to get his mouth to work on the odd words on the scroll, which was written with English letters at least. Yet after a second, he didn't have any further trouble. It was almost as if the words were helping him say them correctly. Happosai didn't question this, simply moving on, and finished the spell quickly.

For a moment nothing happened. Then a deep heavy thrum began to build in the air. A bright speck of light appeared right above Ranma, a globe of multicolored varied light made of colors Happosai had never seen in nature before. He jumped back quickly, moving towards the window again just in case, but he kept watching.

The pulse began to put out even more light, the light flashing and waving over Ranma's still form. Then suddenly, it descended to right above his chest, enveloping him in its aura before disappearing into his body. The light now came from Ranma's body and it continued to pulse for a few more seconds, putting out even more light. Then suddenly, Ranma was gone. One moment his body was there enveloped by the odd light, the next, he was simply gone without a trace.

Happosai's eyes widened in shock. _That wasn't supposed to happen! _He quickly opened his notebook, a notebook that none of his students would ever see, filled with notes in his own made-up language. Swiftly he began to look through the notes on that scroll. "Here it is, the Spell of Absolute Binding. What happened?" he muttered. "That wasn't supposed to…"

"What 'wasn't supposed to', Happy?" asked an old and very angry voice behind him.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had been correct in that the Amazons would be after him, but he had been incorrect about how quickly. Within four hours of his leaving Nerima, they were on the trail, unable to keep up with him but not exactly falling behind either.

Cologne had long felt that Ranma was the best martial artist/warrior of his generation, possibly by a very wide margin and that made him an almost perfect husband for Shampoo. When he defeated Saffron however, that rocketed the young Saotome's importance to a whole new level. The blood of the God-Slayer would make the tribe strong again, strong enough to crush their enemies, and dominate the entire region, possibly enough to stand against the growing strength and technology of the lowlanders.

When Ranma had run she had been ecstatic. A late-night trip like this, coupled with the length of the trip, his attempts to throw them off his trail, and the fact that he kept on going for so long? That meant he was leaving behind his family, everything that had happened in Nerima, and all the people there, which meant that only the Amazons would be in the game from now on.

Oh, she knew it would be tough for love to blossom between Ranma and Shampoo at this late juncture, but the offer of training and the idea of traveling with them without pressure, going for a soft sell rather than forcing them together right away? That would probably have worked very well on the lonely, rather bitter young man. Ranma was very good at hiding it, but ever since Nodoka had found out about his curse, Ranma's mask had slipped occasionally when he thought he was alone and Cologne could see the feelings going through the young man.

So it was with quite a lot of righteous anger that Cologne stared down at Happosai. "What the hell did you do, Happy?"

For once Happosai didn't run, hide, or anything like that, he didn't even try to fight. He simply flipped open his notebook and pointed inside, staring at the scroll that he had dropped at the foot of the bed. "Scroll of Absolute Binding!" he exclaimed shaking his notebook angrily. "That's what it was supposed to be! I double checked it!"

"And what was the scroll supposed to do?" asked Cologne, scornfully opening the window and heading inside quickly. Shampoo crowded in behind her while Mousse stayed outside looking around and making certain they weren't being observed. This wasn't Nerima after all, maybe the local police force was brave/naive enough to try and stop them.

The master of the hidden weapons technique shook his head however, knowing somehow that Ranma was gone for good. Magic was finicky at best, old magic even worse, and Ranma always seemed to have this Murphy's Law aura going on at the best of times. Mousse lowered his head, muttering a brief Buddhist prayer for his frenemy.

"It was supposed to bind him to my orders so that he couldn't disobey me, what the hell do you think 'absolute binding' means, after all?" Happosai whispered angrily, reentering the room with great reluctance.

"Stay there girl!" said Cologne sharply and Shampoo backed away back out of the window while Cologne and Happosai made their way towards the scroll. "Well obviously it didn't work that way, Happy." She muttered, then hissed, still several feet away from the scroll.

She backed away quickly, motioning Happosai to do the same as she stared at it. "Mousse, quickly get me a blunt pole-arm, something long." she ordered then turned back to stare at the scroll. "You've never developed mage sight have you, Happy?"

Happosai shrugged. "Never found someone to teach me, and I didn't pick it up anywhere either. I can tell the difference between magic and ki, obviously, but actually seeing magic itself? No, I'm not that much of a magic user."

"Well I have." She muttered, cursing all dabblers under her breath. There were very few among the Amazon elders that could use magic without the aid of items, scrolls or anything else, but all of them could use mage sight and anyone who wanted to dabble in magic had to have it. "And what my mage sight is telling me is that I have never seen anything this powerful before. Whatever you called up, Happy, is beyond anything that should ever have been stored in a simple scroll."

"I didn't call anything up!" Happosai insisted, thrusting his precious notebook into her face though keeping a hold of it so she couldn't steal it away. "See, Scroll of Absolute Binding, that's what the man said!"

Cologne looked at the chicken scratching Happosai called writing, something she had learned to decipher in their youth. She read quickly through the description and then she frowned angrily. "Did you even ask anyone what it was, or did you just simply assume it was, because I know for one thing that these words, the original words you've copied out, it isn't Celtic! Celts didn't use English lettering, you ass!"

"Well what else could they be? That was the only religion that deals with trees wasn't it?"

Cologne groaned and palmed her face angrily. "No, that would be druids you stupid old man!" She was so angry that she couldn't even think up a good curse. "Now, tell me everything you can remember about wherever you found this scroll."

Happosai did so and Cologne frowned faintly. The description of the woods did sound like a druid temple of some kind, but she didn't know enough about that religion to be certain. She was also wondering why an ancient scroll of a dead religion would have writing on it that used English lettering.

They waited for over an hour until she felt that the magic had faded enough to be safe, and then used the pole-arm Mousse handed Cologne to turn the scroll over to see the other side. It was utterly blank when they turned it over. For a moment, Cologne simply stood staring at the blank parchment, then jumped back again as it crumbled into dust, blowing away on a wind that came through the window behind her.

"Aiyahh, what this mean, grandmother?" asked Shampoo in that cutesy version of Japanese she used for some reason. She claimed it made her sound cute. Cologne felt it made her sound like a bimbo, but she didn't care enough to make her granddaughter change it.

The two ancient martial artists exchanged a glance then backed away. "It means, granddaughter, that whatever happened was possibly the will of a god somewhere and I'm afraid your would-be husband is gone. I'll try some things when we get back to the village to see if I can retrieve him but I'm not holding out much hope."

"Aiyahh!" Shampoo exclaimed one hand rising to her mouth. "But Ranma always survive, yes?"

"Survive maybe," said Happosai grimly shaking his head at his monumental fuck up, "return to this plan of existence, I don't think so."

The two martial artists exchanged another glance, then Cologne shook her head. "I don't think so either."

Without another word Happosai left quickly, followed by the others who split off and went their own way.

Not one of them even thought about telling the people back in Nerima what happened. It would be many months before the Tendos and Saotomes would find out how thoroughly Ranma had disappeared. And when they did, it would be from an off chance comment from Happosai telling Genma that he was once again Happosai's heir, and he was going to train him into the ground. When the fat man, as per normal, tried to defend himself by saying Happosai should hunt down Ranma and train him, the fact that Ranma was no longer on this plane of existence came out, and reactions were varied.

Nabiki was happy that the (literal) home-wrecker wasn't going to be around but also sad because that meant her business took a hit since she couldn't sell photos of him in his different bodies anymore. Akane was angry because this meant she had lost a contest that she saw as a way of bolstering her personal ego and she didn't have her resident punching bag anymore.

Soun and Genma were angry, wondering what they were going to do now that they wouldn't have Ranma around to carry on the schools and live off when they grew old. Nodoka was angry at Rama's running away, calling it a dishonorable act, and disowning him.

Only Kasumi was sad to hear the news and she somehow knew that she had been partly to blame for him running away, at last, and deeply regretted it. She sent a prayer his way, praying for his safety and happiness wherever he wound up. Then, appalled by the way her family responded to this tragedy, Kasumi began to slowly but surely take control of her own life. Even then, she would never return to the dojo, allowing those who remained there to wallow in their willful stupidity and blindness.

Soon, she moved out on her own, cutting all ties with her family. Kasumi went to college, paying her way through by working as a chef. She would graduate at the top of her class and go on to become one of Japan's best doctors, regardless of gender. And every Saturday without fail she would say a prayer for the soul of the young man who she dearly wished she had the courage to get to know, whose passing had given her the courage to at last grasp her dreams.

OOOOOOO

In a place that was so far beyond what mortals could discern as to not really feel the passage of time or be bound by the concept of place, several beings waited. They waited for a champion that could change the fate of the world they were tied to.

The one the humans that worshiped it called The Seven, had found its champions and they had turned into part of the problem, indeed their whole religion had become corrupt, becoming less than useless. R'hllor had found its champion for the crucial time frame and he too had turned into part of the problem. The drowned God did not take part in the discussion, uncaring of the future and unwilling to take champions, so long as its worshipers fed it the souls and blood it demanded. None of the other gods were strong enough to matter in the nation where the crucial battle occurred. Finally, the champion of the old gods had fallen, unable to withstand betrayal or the calls of his human heart.

This all occurred in the future of course, but to gods the future, past, and present were all like beads on a string, easily discernible in their separate natures. Humans could change the present yet those effects could be predicted after a certain time. Now the future was a blank wall, a wall of cold and ice as the forces of the Others, lords of death and cold conquered all.

This could not be allowed. The Others did not believe in the balance, did not believe in the surety of nature, or the cycle of life. All they cared about was expanding the reach of the cold, the cold of the grave and un-life, to wipe out the realm of men. Westeros would fall first but soon the whole world would be engulfed in ice and snow.

Of course this would take millennia to the humans, but to gods that was a very short time indeed. All their calculations told them this, yet with the pieces on the board they could not change it. They could not change human nature. That was the one factor that made the humans fight one another rather than prepare for the coming of winter and the forces of the Others. But if they could not change the future with the pieces on the board, then they needed to introduce a new one.

So it was agreed between them, discussed in a way that no human could follow, that they would send out bits and pieces of themselves to search for new pieces to add to the game. There were strict rules involved, of course. They all already had their chosen champions for the most important time period, after all, and no god could have more than one true champion at a time. If they found a piece, they would have to replace their champion. And of course, only one such replacement could be allowed. More than one would change too much, possibly being even worse than doing nothing. This was a new thing they were attempting and all of them were leery about what could happen.

So they all sent out bits and pieces of themselves, melding into religions of other worlds, and adding on a bit of their own power to them. Whoever found a champion first would be the one to be able to take the soul of the new champion into their own world and thereby, hopefully, change the fate of the world. For millennia uncounted this effort failed and the cleft point, the time where the world would teeter on the balance of Cold or life, came closer on the world they were all bound to with the slow yet certain pace of a glacier.

Then came the call, one of their scrolls had been used at last!

In Ranma, the old gods, for it was their scroll and their religion that Happosai had stolen from, found a champion. This drew the attention of the other gods and as the old gods examined Ranma's soul, the others watched as well. There was strength there, massive power and indomitable will yet a mind that was almost unformed outside the realm of combat. There was a kindness there and a strange amount of gentleness for one who had been through so much. Plus, there was an ability to change fate, even in his old universe, that drew their attention like a lodestone. Eventually, it was agreed that this one would be the new piece added to the game. As such, he would retain much of his skills and knowledge, the better to change the fate of the world, although much of what he could do would be lost from one world to another as what Ranma called ki acted differently in the world of Essos than it did on Earth.

Because it was the old god's scroll Happosai had found, it was the old god's champion who would be replaced.

As a baby was born to a mother of the Riverlands in the land of the North where the old gods still held sway, a mother whose new husband was not the one she had been prepared to marry. The old gods gently reached out and they took the soul of the baby, returning it to where souls dwelled, awaiting their chance to live. It would return at a later time, hopefully when the world was a better place and its trusting, loving nature would be able to bloom without the threat of betrayal or the unyielding laws of duty.

That done the old gods gently stripped Ranma's body of his soul, the body swiftly dissolving into the ethereal nothingness, and gently placed Ranma's soul into the body of the baby. Their task accomplished, the old gods receded, returning to the ethereal plane, watching and waiting, yet already they could see the future was changing…

OOOOOOO

Catelyn Stark stared out the window at the snowfall. It snowed often here in Winterfell, despite it still being summer, or at least in comparison to her former home in Riverrun. She stared down at her baby, lost in joy once again at the fact that she had brought a life into this world. Even if her husband wasn't the man she had long thought she would be marrying, even if it was not a love marriage, right now holding her baby, she was content.

The view could've been better though and she felt her lips quirk a little at the thought, but then those lips turned down into a frown. She was **not** at home in Winterfell, and every time she saw one of the locals she was reminded of it. They saw her as a newcomer, not quite an interloper but certainly new, unusual, and not quite fitting in. And of course, her husband wasn't here to help her settle in.

She had known that he wouldn't be even before their marriage. They barely had a few days together before Eddard Stark had to ride off to join his friend, Robert Baratheon, in his attempt to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty and its allies. The Targaryens, descendants of the dragon riders of Valyria, had ruled for years. However, with no dragons to their name any longer, the awe men felt for the Targaryens had faded and the world had moved on.

_Yet for all the madness of the King, for all the people he has put to death by fire, it is the love of a woman that is at the core of this rebellion. _ Catelyn often wondered how many other people knew that, knew that it was because of Rhaegar Targaryen's kidnapping of Lyanna Stark that the war truly began.

Or at least her kidnapping was the catalyst. Then Bran, the man Catelyn was set to marry and heir of Winterfell, had gone to the Kings Landing to demand her return and been thrown into the dungeons awaiting torture and death. Then his father Rickard had gone south to plea with the king for his son's life only for both to die horribly. Rickard was burned alive in his armor, while Bran was placed in a device that choked him if he moved. Forced to watch his father die horribly Bran choked himself to death trying to break free and save him. Those unjust deaths, along with the deaths of the other highborn men who had traveled with the two Starks, was the spark to the tinder.

That was a little over ten months ago and since then the rebellion had begun, led by Robert Baratheon. It had been bloody and brutal from the outset. Through it all, Eddard had been beside his friend, helping, leading, and often times in the thick of the fight. She had heard the war was all but over now, yet still Eddard had not returned home.

Catelyn wondered what sort of man he would be when he did, changed by war and strife. She wondered if she would ever come to love him as she had started to love Bran, and dismissed it from her mind. In the long scheme of things, this was a political marriage. All that really mattered was that it bound their families together and that she would get him children to continue his line. Love might blossom between them but in the end wasn't really important in comparison to her duty. That was part of her family's motto after all: 'Family, Duty, Honor'.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the baby in her arms opening his eyes and looking around, beginning to wail. Catelyn took a moment to look into his eyes, eyes of a slightly deeper, darker blue than was normal for her family's eyes yet closer to that than her husband's dark brown eyes, despite the black hair that was a Stark trait. The baby started to move his arms, flailing around and she shushed him gently. "There, there baby, momma's here."

Catelyn had decided not to name the boy until her Lord husband came home, so simply had to call him 'baby'. "Is baby hungry, hold on a moment..." With that she began to unbutton her blouse.

OOOOOOO

Ranma woke up, and immediately knew that something was wrong. His thoughts were jumbled in a way that he had never run into before. He couldn't, he couldn't think, couldn't understand, hunger was dominating his thoughts in a way that had never occurred before, even in times vaguely remembered now, his mind couldn't quite grasp the memories, when he went hungry due to his old man's gluttony. He forced a thought through that something was odd physically as well, his hands and feet were not moving as they should.

He opened his eyes and found even that hard. He stared up at a face that he had never seen before. The face was beautiful, with dark red hair, blue eyes, and striking features. The woman was smiling down at him in a way that made his insides go gooey in a way that he had never experienced, save for those few times when he was playing the part of Ranko-chan and Nodoka smiled approvingly at him. Those smiles had gone away the moment she found out about the curse and the way Genma and he had been tricking her.

The woman opened her mouth and spoke. Ranma tried to think, tried to understand the words. _Baby, wha?_

But thinking was **so** hard, he couldn't quite form the thoughts, he was hungry, so hungry, and his thoughts were everywhere at once, unable to form. He felt the woman move him around for a second, then watched, the corner of his mind appalled and embarrassed beyond belief when she opened her blouse to reveal a large (at least to his perspective) breast. That little part of his mind, the part that had been able to think despite the fact that a baby's mind was simply not developed enough to take the mind of a 19-year-old man began to think. _Wait, wait, I__'__m hungry, but wait, I__'__m a baby, wha.. but__…_

The woman brought him closer and the body's instincts took over. His mouth began searching, latching on to a nipple even as that bit of Ranma he had barely began to construct died of embarrassment. It was so bad, he nearly lost concentration, almost letting his thoughts be washed away again by his baby body's instincts and lack of development.

The hunger began to recede, however, and his thoughts became slightly easier to grab onto. The phrase '_What the hell happened?__'_ ran through his mind but he had no answers and no way to even ask them aloud. Almost as soon as his hunger faded, a tremendous exhaustion came to him. It was all he could do to stare up at the woman whose eyes were bright blue for a few more moments before succumbing once more to sleep.

OOOOOOO

Eddard Stark, new Lord of Winterfell, shook the reins of his horse, slowing it down slightly to let him stare at the town and castle that was his home. It had been his home for his entire life of course, but this was the first view of it that he had had since becoming its lord.

He had never anticipated he would become Lord of Winterfell. He was the second son, a full three years younger than Bran. Now because of Aerys, the mad king, and Bran's own impetuous nature both he and their father were dead, leaving him the Lord of Winterfell with his younger sister Lyanna having passed as well. His younger brother Benjen had been ruling here in his stead up till now but Eddard well knew he wanted to take the black and join the Night-Watch. In fact, he would probably leave soon after Eddard entered the castle, so great was his desire. It would be hard to see the last member of his family leave home, but at least he would be relatively close as well as alive. As a Stark, Eddard knew the importance of the Wall and maintaining a strong presence there.

It had had been as Lord Stark that he had married Catelyn, his older brother's fiancée. Eddard wondered what the woman thought of him now, having left her here for over a year as he campaigned in the south against the Targaryen forces alongside his friend Robert.

He also wondered what she would think of the little bundle that a young maid following behind them carried, and hoped that she would not press him too hard on it. Regardless, Eddard had a duty, and if they did not come to love one another or if she took it badly Eddard was prepared to deal with the consequences. He might not have wanted any of this thrust on him, but he was a Stark, and he would do what was right.

After passing through the town of smallfolk around Winterfell, Eddard passed underneath the portcullis of the main castle into the clear area beyond it and saw the castles servants, his wife, and brother waiting for him.

_The lady Catelyn is indeed most beautifu_l he thought, and he hoped once again that the two of them would come to love one another. This thought was reinforced as he saw the little bundle she held.

Wordlessly, Eddard swung off his horse and walked forward, his face, which had been carved from granite for so long, cracking at last. He reached them and pressed a gentle kiss on Catelyn's forehead, not commenting on the slight flinch at his cold lips or possibly something else this inspired in her.

"My lord, welcome home. May I present our son?" Catelyn said her formal words and tone belying her happiness at the bundle in her arms, and her lord's return.

Eddard peeled back the bundle of blankets to look at the baby and smiled, a small but infinitely warm smile that stilled Catelyn's heart for a moment. Seeing that smile, her worries about how the youngest Stark was all about ice and duty receded greatly. She thought to herself that maybe, just maybe love could be possible between them.

The baby's eyes opened, showing eyes the color of the bright blue sky, and the baby began to move around his arms waving around. The eyes looked like Tully eyes, but the rest looked pure Stark and the baby already had a head of black hair. The sight caused Eddard's smile to widen slightly. "He's so full of life and energy, a perfect mix of our families my lady. Does he have a name?"

"I thought to wait until you were home to name him, my lord." Catelyn smiled down at the bundle in her arms and the baby wordlessly giggled at the sight, causing her smile to become a grin.

Benjen chuckled, reaching forward to grasp his older brother's forearm. "He's already crawling all over the place, a right terror he'll be when he grows up." His smile faded as he caught sight of a single small wagon carrying a closed casket at the back of the procession of soldiers with Eddard. "Is that Lyanna?"

Eddard nodded, broken out of his happiness for a moment. "Yes, I brought her home as she would have wanted. She'll go down in the crypts and join the rest of the family." He looked over at Benjen. "I know you want to leave for the Wall as soon as possible to join the Night-Watch, but you'll stay for the service at least? And I would like the chance to exchange news with you."

Benjen nodded, his eyes still on the casket, his face now lined with suppressed grief. "I'll stay for another few days, Ned, then I'll head north to the Wall. Now if you'll excuse me…" With that he walked off towards the casket, intending to pay his respects to his dead sister.

Eddard, or Ned to his friends sighed sadly, then very visibly turned back to the much happier subject of picking his firstborn son's name. "Now, where were we?" He thought for a moment. He was tempted to name him Robb, a strong, good family name, but at the last moment was reminded of a name from the language of the First Men he was descended from. In their language, names often had special meanings, and looking at the vitality and life in the young baby he knew the name to use. "Ranma."

Catelyn looked up at him quizzically and he elaborated. "It is a name from the First Men, it means Wild Storm. With his eyes and energy I think it fits."

His wife looked down at their baby and nodded. "It does indeed my lord. Especially," she rolled her eyes as the newly named Ranma began to move in her grip. "Since as your brother said, he's already taken to crawling around. A little bundle of energy this one, he seems to never be still."

Eddard chuckled lightly, then sobered. "I have something to show you milady." At a nod from him the maid holding the baby he'd brought back with him, a girl he had hired to care for the baby on his northern trek, came forward.

OOOOOOO

As Catelyn began to freeze at the sight of her new husband's bastard child, Ranma's eyes locked onto the other baby. It had been a few days, and he had started to think slightly clearer, not a lot, most of his previous life was still a dream to him. But he knew his name and could understand some of what was said. He wondered if it was fate or something that he was given the same name in this new life. That didn't matter now, and he stared at the other little baby, whose eyes opened to show brown eyes in a rather serious face.

Above him he could hear the man's voice, the man who was apparently his father in this world, say in a calm but caring way, "This is your brother Ranma, his name is Jon. I hope you two get along."

Ranma felt a rush of feeling through him, this time coming entirely from his old life, just like every time Catelyn smiled at him. 'Brother', that word, much like the word 'mother', meant a lot to him signifying things he had never had before all tied into another word that he had never truly had either. Ranma looked up giggling happily in the manner of all babies as he stared at his parents waving his hands wildly. _Brother, mother, father,__** family**__. I have a __**real**__ family!_

OOOOOOO

The years passed, and has they passed Ranma began to **be** able to think more clearly with each passing month. Motor control came back to Ranma first of course, which would have surprised no one who had known him in his previous life. By the time he was eight months old, he was walking easily under his own power. By the time he was two, he was running. By the time he was four, he had the speed and dexterity (body not finger dexterity) of a ten-year-old, as well as the strength and durability, although no one was aware of those last two.

Ranma also started to train himself in secret in his room at night (jumping up to the handle of his door was irritating but doable) and during the mornings when he could get away from his watchers. He was so good at getting away from his minders that they had nicknamed him the 'Wild Wolf' for his ability to run away and get into trouble.

As he grew, he determined a few things about his new life. First, he was definitely not in the world he had been born into in his previous life or whatever you wanted to call it. He had seen a map in his father's room one time. They had been playing together in one of his father's few free moments, and Ranma had been looking around avidly at this room he had never been in before. The map had been up on a wall and not a bit of it could he recognize. The continent of Westeros had a look to it a little like the United Kingdom all mashed together into one with more bits added on, but that was all. Ranma determined from that that he was not in his old reality, that he had been sent here somehow and he wondered why.

For the most part, however, Ranma was content to simply be a little boy again, having fun running around and of course having a loving family. His mother, the Lady Catelyn was an utter joy to him, for he had no memories of Nodoka from this time of his previous life, having been taken away on the training trip at two. A part of him loved her all the more because he knew what it was like to not have a mother or one who didn't care for you. He wasn't certain why she was so nasty to Jon sometimes, so aloof and uncaring when Jon was around, or why he lived in a separate part of the castle, but he hoped to find out the reason one day when he was older.

His father too, was fantastic. Ned was a stern man yet warm despite that, and he always made time for his sons, playing with them and simply spending time with them in a way that wasn't martial arts related. Genma had never been one to bestow hugs, kisses, or pick him up and simply carry him around laughing in the safety (and isolation) of his bedroom or office. His earliest memory of Genma was of being taught the martial arts, almost literally before he could walk.

Jon too, was great. It was fun having another kid around. Even if they couldn't do much yet, their playtime was fun, even to someone who had a 19-year-old mind inside him. Especially to a 19-year-old who couldn't remember ever having played around like a normal child.

Then when he was four, his mother suddenly began to balloon. The 19-year-old in him knew that this was meant he had a little sibling was on the way and he looked on proudly as his parents announced it to the family and to the retainers. Months passed, which Ranma spent getting stronger and training himself even harder, pushing his little body to the limit in a way that even his self in his previous life would've been surprised by.

After all, the young Ranma had never really realized why he was doing this, only that his father was telling him to This Ranma was getting stronger to get stronger for a reason. Ranma felt he had to be here for a reason, to do something. Some kind of quest, some kind of enemy, he didn't know yet what, but he would be ready for it.

Soon Sansa arrived, and he looked down at the little pink baby that was his sister and he looked up at his mother with wide eyes. "Was I that small?" he asked in a loud voice, a question fueled by both his lives, having never been around babies when he was back in his old body.

Catelyn laughed. "All babies are that small, my dear." She said leaning down to kiss him gently, being careful not to dislodge Sansa in her blanket.

"Indeed," said his father pulling Catelyn into a hug from around the waist from one side of the bed. "You and Jon were both that small. I could pick either one of you up in one hand."

Ranma pouted and they chuckled, then Jon and Ranma, who Ranma had insisted come in with him looked down at the baby and up at his parents.

_It doesn't matter,_ he realized suddenly. _The reasons I'm here do not matter a damn. I have a new life, a new family: a brother, a sister, a new mother and father. _ _I will, by all that is holy, do all I can to protect them and make them proud of me as a brother, as an heir, and as a son._

**Chapter 1 Normalcy and Ranma are a Contradiction in Terms**

"Ranma! Get back here!" shouted a voice from down in the courtyard and Ned looked up from where he was working with his chief seneschal. The two men chuckled and moved over to the window to stare out into the courtyard below.

Sure enough there was Ranma, once more running away from his lessons, showing far more dexterity and energy than a five-year-old boy should have. His hair, which was rather long for a boy at present, whipped behind him as he dodged the grabbing motion of Maester Luwin. "I don't want to!" he exclaimed, "It's a lovely day, why do I have to spend it inside!?"

With that he ducked under the man's reaching hand and ran far faster than a five-year-old should be able to move, dodging around some of the guards who were there practicing in the courtyard.

The seneschal chuckled. He was an older man, who had served Eddard's father before him and his grandfather before that. His rheumy eyes were staring at a memory as much as the world around him. "He reminds me so much of your older brother, my Lord, a wild little thing Bran was, always running around getting into trouble."

"Yes," said Ned, though his own voice was more thoughtful as he watched Ranma dodge a wild swing from a swordsman who hadn't heard Ranma coming, ducking underneath the blow with a dexterity, speed, and body control well beyond his years. "In many ways he is, in many ways, not."

He excused himself, and he went downstairs to corral his wayward son. Almost as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard, Ranma ran up to him smiling happily. "Hi dad!" He didn't even look behind him as he dodged another last gasping grab from the maester. "Have you come out to have fun, too?"

Eddard smiled faintly but went to his knees and said seriously as he pulled his son to him, "What have I told you about running away from your lessons? You need to learn how to read and write and you need to learn our history. The subjects you learn now will stand you in good stead later on. You are my heir Ranma, you need to know these things to be a lord worthy of our house."

Ranma looked down, kicking the ground. "I know, it's just a such a nice day out I wanted to get out and have fun."

"I know," Ned said, smiling his small smile that he only showed to his family. "Perhaps you could take your lessons outside? Do you promise to try and concentrate if Luwin does that?"

Ranma nodded eagerly. "I promise."

Behind him he heard a giggle, and he turned to see his wife leading their daughter out by the hand. Sansa was now two years old and thought that her big brother was very funny. Maybe that was just because he would make faces at her in an attempt to get her to laugh, yet even when he wasn't trying to be funny she would giggle at him.

"You spoil him so." Catelyn said a little disapprovingly. "He can't always have his lessons outside, after all, and he does need to learn how to pay attention to Maester Luwin and sit still."

Ned shrugged unrepentantly. "He is a five-year-old boy who has more energy than any grown man. It's a wonder that he can sit still at all."

Catelyn was about to respond rather sharply, saying that he needed to learn now or else he would never learn later on, but the maester spoke up quickly. "If, if I may?" he said gasping a little still. He was a middle-aged man, but he was never very athletic, and keeping up with Ranma was enough to drive even a trained soldier into the ground. "I think, I think I have a suggestion. If I can start giving him things to do with his body while he listens to me it may help. You're right, Lord Stark, it's obvious he has too much energy to sit still for very long. That's not an unheard of occurrence after all."

"Hi mom!" said Ranma looking around his father and dancing to one side before rushing forward to envelop her legs in a hug.

Catelyn looked down at him smiling, her former irritation disappearing. Her son was a sweet boy, always happy and handing out hugs to his family like this. And it never failed to calm her down or make her irritation fade.

Her face stilled the moment Jon came out, moving quickly to join Ranma at his side. The two were constant companions, though Ranma had much more energy and dexterity then Jon. Still, Jon was trying to keep up with him and it was fun to watch despite her dislike for the young bastard, the constant sign of her husband's infidelity.

"Still, I'm afraid your mother is correct" said Eddard, "You need to learn how to pay attention now, so I'm afraid no lessons outside for you. Maester Luwin, if you can put his body to work at the same time that will probably help." He looked at his son. "Keep up with your lessons in the mornings and you will have the afternoons free."

Ranma thought about it with a thoughtful frown on his face as if he was trying to copy Eddard and both his parents chuckled. "Fine," he said, "I'll go back in, so long as I can do something while I'm listening to the lessons."

"Then we have an accord," said Ned gravely then spoiled it by smiling that small, warm smile of his before reaching forward to rub Ranma's hair affectionately, nodding at Jon next to him.

OOOOOOO

Ranma grinned to himself as he snuck back to his room with his burden. _ They aren't that heavy, but I can start training with them anyway, and replace the bits later on._

"What are you doing?" said a soft voice, a whisper on the wind as he snuck down the hallway towards his room. Ranma turned swiftly, staring at the doorway where Jon stood, having opened the door of his own room to peer out sleepily.

"Are you doing something you shouldn't?" said Jon, a serious little boy who Ranma had taken to making certain lightened up. It was having quite a bit of success, but when he was startled or tired Jon reverted to his serious nature. Ranma still wasn't certain why his mother didn't like Jon, why he was his father's son but not hers, or why he had quarters away from the rest of the family. But that didn't really matter. To Ranma, he was simply his brother, something he would've cheerfully killed for in his old life.

Ranma raised a finger to his lips for quiet, then motioned Jon to follow. They moved up several stairs from where Jon had a room, surrounded by a few of the servant's families, and up to the private quarters of the lord's family. They moved through the darkened castle quietly, even past a few guards who patrolled the keep at night. Soon enough they arrived at their destination. Ranma silently opened the door to his room, motioning Jon inside.

Once inside his room, Ranma opened the bag he had been carrying, which held several leather armguards that he had taken from a guardsmen's supply room. They were ones the guardsmen had several on hand at all times, so they weren't going to be missed. "We can cut these down to fit us and use them to carry these."

The other things he carried were four iron bars the length of his forearm. Ranma gestured at them. "Weight training." he said simply. "You get stronger if you lift weights a lot, I think a few exercises at night wearing these and maybe wearing them underneath our clothing at times would be good." Ranma had intended to wear them on his arms and legs, but was willing to share his leg weights with Jon.

"Training." said Jon thoughtfully, then his eyes lit up. "You mean like sword training!?" And he made gestures with his arms as if he was holding a sword. "Chop, chop, chop!"

The 19-year-old mind that was in Ranma six-year-old head shook his head, but physically Ranma simply chuckled. "Yep, this will help you when we start learning how to use swords."

"Can I do it too?" said Jon pointing at himself.

Ranma nodded and the two conspirators began to talk about what they would be doing with them. Jon couldn't really follow everything Ranma said, but Ranma didn't try to explain everything either, simply stating that working with weights would make them stronger later on and moving with them would make them faster when they took them off, which was enough for Jon.

About three months later, Catelyn was once again pregnant. A month after that, Ned was called away to war. The Greyjoys, Lords of the Iron islands, had rebelled against the king, taking to raiding the coastline up and down all Westeros.

OOOOOOO

With Eddard gone, Ranma stepped up his training times even more, not noticing that he was now being watched by several people of the castle, maids, soldiers, and workers. They saw him training to build up his strength by carrying around rocks and building up speed by racing the dogs or catching the chickens in their coop. They all whispered that it was because Ranma felt he was the man of the Castle and had to protect everyone. To the maids, it was sweet. To the soldiers and the other men, it was amusing, but they only saw the tip of the iceberg. None of them realized how much other training Ranma was putting himself through.

With Catelyn busy with her duties as lady of the castle, Jon, Ranma, and Sansa spent more time together although the girl was not really old enough yet to run around with the boys. She didn't seem as interested in outdoor excursions, either. Seeing as Ranma couldn't remember a time of his life where he spent any time at all around little girls, he didn't know if that was just the difference between boys and girls or what. It was also at this point that Ranma found the godswood.

Maester Luwin and Catelyn both worshiped the Seven, but the predominant religion in the North, by a wide margin, was the worship of the old ones. This wasn't an organized religion like worship of the Seven was, with a set hierarchy and priests. It was a very personal religion, passed down from father to son. Rather than worshiping in a sept with seven statues, it was based on worship of nature spirits represented by the godswood, ancient woods that were built around ancient trees that had been here long before the First Men. One tree in particular was larger and older by far. It was a different kind of wood called weirwood and in its solid trunk was carved the face of an old man.

Ranma moved around the woods, looking around in awe at the amount of energy he felt. It was old and it was, like the energy of a tree itself only everywhere, in the air, slow, ponderous but alive and strong flowing all around him like a solid fog of power. The peace of this place was something that he had never felt before and he sighed as he let it fill him.

As he moved in deeper, he felt a sense of welcome fill him and Ranma smiled. Not the wide, friendly, and oftentimes mischievous smile of his current age, but a smile of peace and serenity that would have looked at home on his old body, if he had ever felt those feelings in his old life.

Soon Ranma found himself standing in front of the weirwood tree, or heart tree as it was called, its wood smooth and bone white. Its leaves, which grew from every branch of the massive tree, were five-pointed leaves and blood-red, which, according to what he had heard, was also the case of the sap. The face of the old man, carved there by the children of the forest long before Winterfell was even built, looked down at him. Near its base was a small, dark pool of water around seven feet across.

Ranma stared up at the heart tree, then knelt down, getting into the lotus position, looking back up at it silently. All around him he felt that wave of welcome intensify for a moment and he smiled, then spoke. "You were the ones who brought me here, weren't you?" The feeling of welcome intensified again at his words and he nodded. "I have to thank you then. I, I never knew what a real family was like until I came here. My old man, Genma, he wasn't a real father to me, just a trainer. And the less said about Nodoka, the better. Even with how serious dad is, he's better than Genma ever was. I can tell he loves me and my siblings. He's a fantastic role model and my mom is great. But I have to ask, why? I don't think there was anyone who worshiped you in my world. I certainly didn't so it couldn't be because of what I did in my old life. So why am I here?"

The feeling of welcome faded as if it had never been and then images came to him: Images of war, of strife, of blood, betrayal, treachery, and death. The images were nothing permanent, flashes of emotions of a bleak future, nothing concrete until right at the end, when two eyes of pitiless ice looked back at him, accompanied by a cold so intense Ranma gasped.

Then it was gone and Ranma shook his head, gasping again, and trying to regain control of himself. After a moment he stood up and nodded, his five year old face firm. "I see. My family's motto is 'Winter is Coming', I didn't realize how true those words could be. But it isn't just the winter we need to fear, but other men, huh? I was brought here to change that fate?" A warm feeling filled him and he nodded again. "I will be ready."

OOOOOOO

"Why do I have to learn this stuff?" Ranma complained while continuing to perform jumping jacks in place. "It's boring and it's not as important as reading and writing, is it?"

Maester Luwin rubbed his forehead, knowing this was level one of his charge's progression toward running off. Luwin had become quite adept at seeing the signals in Ranma. The question would come first, then would come even faster exercises, and then, suddenly, he would bolt for the door. And as fast as Ranma was, despite being only five years old, there was no way that Maester Luwin was going to catch them. Despite the fact that chasing after Ranma had forced Luwin to get some exercise, he was not anywhere near what anyone would call fast. And of course even grown soldiers had trouble catching Ranma these days.

So he needed to figure out a way to convince Ranma that learning about the history of all of the different houses and the differences between them was important. Luckily, however, Maester Luwin knew exactly what would get his charge's attention, the same thing that got his attention talking about mathematics, geography, and everything else: war and combat.

He looked over at Jon and winked at the other boy, who grinned back at him. Jon too knew the signs and had become somewhat of a co-conspirator with Maester Luwin in trying to keep Ranma from bolting during his classes. Not so much because Jon didn't understand why Ranma was doing so, but because he didn't like the way that the Lady Catelyn looked at him when he joined Ranma in his escapades. Ranma would get blamed a little, but the look in Catelyn's eyes made it clear that she would dearly like to blame Jon, for some reason.

"Now Ranma," Maester Luwin began, "while you may not think this is important, manners and how you carry yourself can be very important when meeting other people. It could mean the difference between insulting someone and having a fight to the death or making new friends." That didn't seem to interest Ranma but Luwin went on quickly. "And learning all of the different major houses can tell you a lot about how the kingdom is run and everything else, including how the house might pursue personal combat or a war."

Ranma frowned a little seeing this as a rather blatant attempt to convince him that this stuff was interesting, but he sighed and nodded. "I guess I can see that, still seems boring to me though."

"But useful. Now, let's start with something simple, house Tully. What is their motto, and what do you think it means for the people themselves, both in relation to how they rule and how they would fight?"

Ranma frowned, then replied "It's 'family, honor, duty', I think, or 'family, duty, honor'."

"Jon which one is it, do you think?"

"The second one, Sir." Jon was always courteous.

"That is correct, now what do you think that means in terms of leadership?"

An hour later the boys vacated the premises quickly and Maester Luwin leaned back with a sigh, massaging his forehead again. Once you got Ranma interested in something, he would bring a focus to it that was that was beyond surprising in a barely five-year-old boy. Ranma was incredibly intelligent for his age, but his attention span worked against him. Yet, since he had promised his father he would concentrate more on his lessons Ranma's abilities had gone up by leaps and bounds in every test Luwin gave him. It was almost bizarre how much focus he could bring to learning.

"You just have to know how to get his attention.", he muttered to himself, chuckling a little. For Ranma, he obviously wanted to make his parents proud of him. He was eager to please, and once he truly realized that he needed to learn to read and write to become a better leader and lord, and thus make his father happy, he took to it quickly. Math had been harder of course, until Luwin connected it to logistics.

Luwin was not the only one astonished by Ranma. Ser Rodrick, the castle's master at arms and leader of the guard while Eddard was away, was as well. He stood outside now watching Ranma and Jon play a game that looked silly on the face of it, a slap game based on trying to catch one another's hands with a slap. However, Ser Rodrick had been around for a long time and knew what it really was; a game to teach hand-eye coordination and speed.

Ranma was simply fast! Rodrick had known that the boy was fast on his feet but this was the first time he had seen him practicing something like this. Jon was nowhere near as fast as Ranma but he was quite a bit faster than normal and had better hand-eye coordination than a boy twice his age. "I think I need to talk to Lord Stark when he gets back." he muttered. "We might want to put these two into real sword training earlier than normal."

OOOOOOO

Later that evening Ranma stole up to the maester's room in the tower where the ravens that were used as messenger birds stayed, knocking on the door gently. Ranma had just spent dinner with his mother, younger sister, and Jon, and had finally decided that enough was enough. Throughout the dinner his mother had ignored Jon, who just seemed resigned to it. When he asked Jon what was up, Jon didn't answer.

The maester opened his door and looked at Ranma in surprise. "Ranma, what can I do for you? Shouldn't you be preparing for bed?"

"Maester Luwin, why is Jon named Jon Snow if he's my brother and why does my mother hate him?"

Maester Luwin winced a little at the innocent questions. Everyone had basically hoped that Ranma would figure out the answer to those questions by simply observing everyone around him, but it looked as if he hadn't or maybe wanted clarification to the point. "Come inside, Ranma. I could wish you had waited to ask your father this question, but I understand that he would probably not be as happy about that." He chuckled a little sadly.

When the explanation was over, Ranma was a little angry at his father, at first, for betraying his mom like that. _But it isn't as if they had been married for all that long and maybe he had had a lover before they were married. But Jon__'__s a little younger than me isn't he? So that means he was born after me, which means dad was with this other woman after marrying mom. But that goes against everything he__'__s taught us about keeping your word and honoring your vows._ So instead Ranma asked a simple question to himself: would a man like Eddard, who preached about honor and dignity and duty, go behind his mother's back, even if he wasn't in love with her at the time, to have another baby with another woman?

The answer to that, he knew almost immediately, was no. _So,_ he thought to himself, looking around at Jon at the next day as they sat in their lessons, _there__'__s something else going on here. He looks like dad, but that doesn't mean much does it? I mean, surely dad had some siblings or something._

The questions festered for a few days, then when they were discussing the history of the great families, Ranma asked, "Maester Luwin, did my father have any siblings? I've heard people comparing me to someone named Bran?"

Maester Luwin chuckled a little. "Yes indeed, I never knew Bran Stark. I wasn't assigned here at the time, but he was supposed to be a little wild creature when he was younger, much like you today. But he wasn't their only sibling, there was Lyanna as well, your father's slightly older sister, and, of course, Benjen, who is now commander of the Night Watch."

He briefly detailed the revolution of Robert the Usurper against the Targaryen dynasty and then said briskly, "But we will cover that in more detail in later lessons, now let us return to the First Men and discuss how they were able to push the children of the woods out of most of Westeros, and why the First Men took up their religion."

Ranma nodded and went along with it, but inside his mind was already racing ahead. He made certain not to look at Jon as he kept thinking, while a wild surmise came to him.

OOOOOOO

Catelyn looked out of her window, patting her now bulging stomach, sighing a little sadly as the sun went down. Eddard had not returned, though the news they were getting said Stannis Baratheon had crushed the Iron Born fleet. They had been pushed off of most of their islands and back to Pyke, where they were now besieged. Hopefully, that meant that he would be coming home soon. But that wasn't all that was bothering her and she knew it.

_Why has Ranma been so cold to me? _Catelyn thought disconsolately. Her son was affectionate, warm, and loving to his family, despite being almost entirely Stark in his body he had a Tully soul or, at least, that was how she thought of it. But for the past few days he had been distant with her during the few times she could spend with him and Sansa. Where before she would always exchange hugs with him before sending him off to bed or even going up to read to him before he fell asleep, now Ranma didn't even try to kiss her or come close to her, and when she went up to read to him, Ranma was already asleep with his lights out.

She wanted to put it down to worry for Ned or one of those odd humors that children go through at times Maybe something he had heard in their history lessons had bothered him and he was trying to think through it alone. But somehow she knew that wasn't it. Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, well below the height a grown man would knock on, and a young voice saying, "Mama, can I talk to you?"

Catelyn smiled happily, hoping that this meant that whatever had bothered her son he had thought through it or come to her for advice at least. She responded instantly. "Of course Ranma, come in."

Ranma came in, moving to her swiftly and hugging her around the waist before leaning back and sitting down the footrest opposite her. "Mama," he said slowly, "I… I found out why Jon isn't really my brother."

Catelyn tried to stop it but she could feel her face closing down. Despite the fact that they had not been in love when they married, despite her love for her family and her husband, the fact that Ned insisted on keeping the visible sign of his infidelity around almost like he was a regular family member stuck in her craw and was just the one wound that would never heal. It had been over five years now and she still couldn't get over it. What woman could? Now her own son was asking and his father was nowhere in sight to explain it to him!

Ranma went on before she could say anything. "I asked Maester Luwin, and he explained things, but I don't think he's right!"

Catelyn frowned, trying to keep her expression and voice calm as she asked softly "What do you mean, you don't think he's right?"

"Well, dad always told us about holding to honor and duty, and how important family is right? Sort of like your family's motto? He's…" Ranma paused before going on, laying it on a bit thick for now. "He's kind of hard at times I guess, is that a right way to put it?"

Catelyn found herself smiling slightly and she nodded. "That is exactly the correct way to put it yes. Your father can be a hard, harsh man."

"Yeah, but what I mean is, he's not the kind to… you know to just do that…" he stammered, blushing hotly, "with someone when he's already married to you."

Catelyn's small smile disappeared and she said, "Yes, it's not an act you would normally ascribe to a man like Ned, but sometimes a man's desires catch them in a weak moment. Your father has never explained to me what happened, but I can imagine and it isn't exactly unusual for Lords to have…"

"But it is for dad isn't it?! I mean it's so weird coming from him."

"The phrase is 'out of character' and yes it is. But sometimes people act like that when they are in a war or having just finished a war. Their emotions run high and override their sense of honor."

"Maybe," Ranma frowned, but then said excitedly, now sharing his own idea about what happened, though he was still acting like a child. "I had a better idea, what if Jon isn't dad's son, but someone else's in his family?"

Catelyn had never thought about it, simply taking Eddard's word at face value but now she frowned, wondering why it hadn't occurred to her before.

She frowned further, thinking it through. _If it was his father's son gotten on some whore or other in Kings Landing thanks to a final night of pleasure before his murder at the Aery's hand that could explain it, but then Rickard__'__s wife had passed well before then. So why wouldn't he just tell me that? Why does he insist on telling me that Jon is his bastard? Though he could be covering for Bran, but that makes no sense. And of course Benjen never went south._

"It's a nice theory," she said, still calm, "but I don't think it holds much weight, Ranma. I'm afraid you're just going to have to accept that there was one moment in his life were your father wasn't the perfectly honorable man. If it had been his brother's or his father's after all then he would have been within his rights to legitimize Jon, though he would never be in line for the succession."

"But there was another older sibling, wasn't there? That's what Maester Luwin told us when I asked. Lyanna was her name right, the one that was supposed to marry Robert Baratheon before the rebellion?"

That thought struck like a lightning bolt, and Catelyn reared back nearly pushing her chair off the ground as if the thought had hit her with physical force. Lyanna Stark had been betrothed to Robert Baratheon but she had been instead stolen away by Rhaegar Targaryen. That marked the start of the downward spiral that eventually led to the death of so many people in Kings Landing, including Rickard and Bran Stark. _If Rhaegar had put a child in Lyanna, then what would Robert do?_

She knew the answer to that, the news of the sack and massacre of the Targaryen dynasty, their children hacked to pieces by Lannister men had spread throughout the nations of Westeros. _And Ned would never have killed a child, or blame the child for the sins of the father even if he was a child of rape. Though if Jon is a child of rape from Lyanna, Ned's a better person than I am, _Catelyn thought guiltily, recalling all the times she had been cold or stiff or simply dismissive of Jon.

_Calm down,_ she thought to herself, _calm down, we don't know if that is the case. And Jon has nothing of the Targaryen features about him, he__'__s pure Stark, more so even than Ranma! _Still, the idea refused to leave her, as well as the fact that the consequences if it ever came out that he shared blood with the Targaryen dynasty. Robert, close friend and boyhood companion of Eddard, would turn on him the moment it came out to so as to slake his thirst for Targaryen blood.

Catelyn leaned forward earnestly grabbing Ranma by his shoulders, a little surprised at how firm they felt under her hands. Her young son was a wiry little thing and surprisingly strong for his size. "Ranma," Catelyn said earnestly, "you must not share this wild theory of yours with anyone else, do you understand?"

Ranma shook his head, this time not acting at all. "No mama, I don't."

"You'll understand when you're older, but right now it is important for you to promise me, **promise me,** Ranma, that you won't share this idea with anyone, not even Jon himself!" She frowned a little then pulled him into a hug. "I'll try to act better toward Jon, but you have to promise not to share this theory with anyone."

"If you promise to treat him good then I'll promise to keep quiet about it," said Ranma resolutely. "I won't even ask dad when he comes back, if it's that important."

"Good," said Catelyn sighing in relief and kissing his forehead. "Very good, my little man," she said ruffling his hair fondly. "Now, do you want me to read to you before you go to bed?"

Ranma grinned impishly and pulled her to her feet "I think Sansa's still awake, let's read to her instead."

Catelyn chuckled and let Ranma pull her along putting the entire conversation to the back of her mind for now.

OOOOOOO

Two months passed since that conversation. Jon was ecstatic that the distance between him and Catelyn seems to have shrunk dramatically. She still wasn't as kind to him as she was to her own children, but it was much better.

It was at this point that Ser Rodrick began to train both boys, trying to build up their muscles and reaction times in anticipation of sword training, something that would normally start at age eight and go on for two years. As he had expected, their reaction times and strength were twice that what it should have been for boys of five, not just Ranma, but Jon too. He was a little leery of starting them on practice swords without talking to lord Stark in person, first, but bows and arrows at least were safe enough.

After a single day, he could tell that neither Jon nor Ranma had a true archer's eye, but they were fast, strong, and could handle the pull of the practice bows without any strain. Afterwards, Rodrick called them over to him and he shook his head, looking down at the two. "I don't understand, it's as if you've both been training for years, but I've never seen any sign of you taking the weapons or sneaking away somewhere. Care to share why that is?"

The two young boys shared a conspiratorial grin but didn't reply and he laughed. "Away with you then, I can hear Maester Luwin calling you in for extra lessons." Rodrick watched as they both ran off, shaking his head. He had heard of natural talents before, Jaime Lannister was supposed to have been one such, the youngest person to ever be elected to the Kingsguard, who had killed four men in the kingswood. And Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning was another, one of the trio that had fallen against Lord Stark and his companions at the Tower of Joy taking all but Lord stark and Lord Reed into death with them when Eddard went there to retrieve Lyanna's body. Yet even so… _I have to speak to Lord Stark when he returns, there__'__s just something strange about how good Ranma is at anything to do with fighting. _

OOOOOOO

Three weeks later, Ranma was in the godswood. He normally came here to practice early in the mornings before anyone else was up as well as deep into the night after everyone else had gone to sleep. Today however, he hadn't done much more than his starting routine of upside down sit-ups (dangling from a tree limb) when he heard a voice shouting for him near the edge of the woods.

He flipped out of the tree, landing lightly and racing towards the voice to find one of the servants looking for them. "There you are, young master." The maid said, looking relieved. "Your father has returned from the war. He is within an hour's ride from here, already. Your lady mother wants you and your siblings to bath and prepare for him."

Ranma nodded with a smile on his face, then shot off like a arrow from a bow. The maid stared after the small child racing faster than a grown man through the trees, maybe even faster than a horse, and she chuckled. "Little wild wolf," she said affectionately following after him at a much more sedate pace.

OOOOOOO

Ranma soon found himself standing with his mother beside him, one hand on his shoulder while Catelyn's other hand held Sansa's little one. Sansa was dressed in a very good dress and looked the perfect image of a pretty little lady. Jon stood to one side, dressed in some clothing cut to his size that had been Ranma's. Both his and Ranma's hair was combed and they both stood to attention as their father cantered into the castle's courtyard.

Ned Stark was bone weary, but the sight of his family waiting for him made Ned raise his head and smile faintly before dismounting easily and moving forward. He looked at his pregnant wife, his dark eyes warm as he kissed her forehead with his arms going around her gently. "My lady, I hope you are well?"

"I am very well, my lord husband. Your castle has had no problems while you were gone, though I hope that it will be a long time before we need to supervise it without your presence again."

"You and I both, my love." Ned's arms tightened for a moment before he turned to Sansa, kneeling down to her level. "Hello my daughter, how are you?"

Sansa smiled tremulously, then wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. "Missed you daddy!"

Ned smiled his faint, warm smile then stood up, lifting Sansa in his arms. He looked over at Ranma and Jon, who both smiled up at him, happy to have him back home where he belonged.

Ranma however, had also noticed that among the returning soldiers with his father was a small, wiry boy who was now scowling around at Winterfell.

Eddard noticed where his son was looking and waved his hand at the boy. He came forward, rather sullenly Ranma thought, and Eddard nodded his head gravely. "This is Theon Greyjoy of house Greyjoy…."

OOOOOOO

Catelyn waited, wrapping herself in calm until late that evening when the servants and everyone else were all-a-bed save for the guards on the walls and roaming the castle, a constant here in Winterfell. She waited, still calm as her husband joined her in bed before beginning. "While you were gone Ranma came up with a very shocking idea one I am astonished never occurred to me," she murmured, snuggling into his side and holding him tightly.

"And what is that?" he murmured.

"He wondered whether or not Jon isn't your son, but your sister's." She said looking at his face, waiting for his reaction.

Eddard turned to her sharply, his eyes wide and he made to stand up but her grip on him kept him where he was in their bed. "It is the truth?"

"I…" he shook his head, looking a little pole-axed at the suddenness of the questioning. "That is, I made a promise. I cannot …"

"So Jon is Lyanna's," Catelyn said slowly, "I understand, though you are a far better man even than I thought, Ned Stark. I'll keep your secret and I'm sorry for doubting you for so long." She leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. She was much too far along in her pregnancy to let them do anything serious, but cuddling was safe enough.

_She doesn't know the full truth,_ Ned thought to himself after Catelyn fell asleep, sighing almost sadly. Robert and all the other who had suffered under the edicts of the Mad King would try to put Jon to the death again if they knew even that much. It would be nice to share his burden with someone else, someone else who had heard his sister's final confession, but that could not be allowed. If Robert found out that Lyanna ran away willingly with Rhaegar, then his hatred would possibly be turned to all of the Starks, his friendship with Ned would not be enough to stay his wrath.

Ned all too easily remembered those dark days right after the sacking of the Red Keep and Kings Landing. When Tywin and the other Lannisters were so proud of themselves for their bloody work, for the way they slaughtered children and the way Robert agreed with them, saying that the only good Targaryen was a dead one. How enraged Robert was by the fact that even two young children had escaped.

No, Eddard thought as he snuggled down next to his wife, kissing her neck gently,there were some secrets that he would take to the grave, even if both Ranma and Catelyn already knew that Jon was not his own_._

OOOOOOO

Theon, Ranma decided, was a bit of an enigma. He seemed courteous enough, if a little sullen, which was to be expected given the reasons behind his wardship in Winterfell. In the week since his arrival he had also proven quick to anger, quick to insult, and quick to fire back at any perceived insult directed at him.

Still, Ranma at last got him to play some games with him and Jon. Theon came upon them in the courtyard one day, standing up and trying to slap one another's hands. Jon was quick and had an excellent eye, but Ranma was simply faster and better. He still let Jon win sometimes of course, he didn't want to crush his brother's enthusiasm for training.

Theon looked on for a moment and then sneered. "Don't you know any better games? That's kids stuff."

"Well, that would make sense, wouldn't it," Jon replied drolly, sounding far older than his years would suggest. "We are kids, after all."

"Speak for yourself, I'm an Ironborn warrior!" Theon replied. "If I was still among my people, I'd already be training with knives."

"Yeah, but you're not." Ranma broke in, slapping Jon's hands at the same time, then trying to slap his face but Jon ducked aside. "And besides, what if you were playing this game and your hands were holding those knives of yours?"

Theon paused thoughtfully for a moment then asked hesitantly "Er, I don't suppose I could play?"

Thus began the tentative friendship between the three boys.

Above them Ser Rodrick and Ned stood in his office, looking down on them, speculatively.

OOOOOOO

Soon enough the Stark family had a new addition and to Ned looking at his second daughter it was like Lyanna had come back to life.

Ranma was a mix between the Stark and Tully blood. He was stern at times, forthright and blunt spoken, yet warm and friendly with the Stark features of dark hair and high cheekbones, yet he had eyes of Tully blue. Sansa was a near perfect copy of her mother. Tully auburn hair and blue eyes coupled with the building mannerisms and attitude of a proper little lady, all quiet and earnest. Arya however was all Stark in her features, with the same gray eyes of his line and dark brown hair.

Catelyn smiled down at her new daughter, her little face scrunched up in sleep, then up at the rest of the family crowding around her bed. Ranma, for one, was smiling brightly, his arms holding Sansa back from climbing onto the bed to see the little baby, while Jon and Ned stood behind them. "My dears, this is your new sister. Her name is Arya."

OOOOOOO

The next five years passed peacefully, with little of the rest of the world making itself known in Winterfell and several more additions coming along.

Ranma, Jon and Theon began to learn swordplay, which Ranma took to like a duck to water. At least that was the way it appeared to Ser Rodrick, who had talked Lord Stark into testing the boys. Ned had been astonished by how strong and coordinated they both were already, and reluctantly agreed to let them start actual sword training. The sooner you started, after all, the better your instincts would become.

Theon was stuck still doing exercises to bring his strength and coordination up, although he had already learned how to use a bow. He was a better marksman than either Jon or Ranma, though nowhere near as good as he thought he was.

Wrestling, fisticuffs, sword work, all these Ranma dominated easily. Sword work seemed to come less easily to him, as if he was fighting himself, but still he took to it far faster than any youth Ser Rodrick had ever trained before. Despite his skills, there was no arrogance in him. He simply kept on pushing himself even more and always encouraged Jon and Theon to become better, pushing them ever on. Jon responded positively to this, while Theon seemed to resent the way Ranma outclassed him. Nor was that the only thing that put a strain on their relationship.

One day, Ranma bested both Theon and Jon in a mock wrestling match, controlling the match so they got in one another's way, then rushing forward to push them both down in a heap, with him sitting on top of them. "I think that's my victory!"

Jon grumbled good-naturedly before pushing Theon off him, poking what he thought was gentle fun at the Iron Born boy. "It would seem that working together is something they don't teach on those ships of yours."

The other boy, however, responded with a surprising amount of vitriol. "I don't need to hear that from you **Snow**! It was your own clumsiness that cost us the match. Are all bastards this clumsy or is it just you?"

Theon had learned of Jon's status early on, but hadn't really understood it until he had overheard Septa Mordane, who had taken over Sansa's lessons in embroidery and etiquette from Catelyn, telling the girl how she shouldn't be so friendly with the bastard born boy. Once he had figured it out, the fact that Jon was welcomed into house Stark despite his status rankled on Theon. Despite having lived here for years, he was still seen as an outsider by most of the staff, as well as Lady Catelyn, who never quite seemed to warm to him. That and the fact that Ranma and Jon were so close rankled. **He** wanted to be Ranma's best friend, not this bastard born. He wanted to be getting the sword lessons and the attention that Jon got just from hanging out with Ranma.

Jon flushed angrily, never liking having his dubious birth rubbed in his face. He stood up angrily, about to take a swing at Theon which was what the other boy wanted. Ranma stepped in quickly however, pushing them both back and standing between them. "Hey, that's enough you guys. If you can't work together that's fine, but I don't want any of this stupid name-calling or anything else!"

The other two boys glared at one another angrily, but subsided. Ranma sighed, knowing this was probably not the last time the two would clash. He was proven right the very next day. Over the next few years Ranma would find himself in the very odd position of peace maker countless times.

Nor was the fact that Jon had already claimed the place of Ranma's best friend the only thing that stood between them. Several months after that first incident, Jon and Ranma were training again with their swords, this time under Ser Rodrick's watchful eyes. They wore heavy padding on practically every part of their body and the swords were training blades, slightly heavier than normal ones and with no edge. Yet for all that, the two were still able to move around easily enough and the clangor of their blades slamming against one another was loud in the training ground. To one side, Theon waited for his turn, having at last proven that he was strong and dexterous enough to start training under Ser Rodrick.

Ranma's sword swept up and the two blades locked above the boys' heads for just a moment before Ranma twisting his blade, catching his opponent's and pulling it out of his hand.

Before the blade could fall to the ground, however, Jon's other hand shot out catching it in midair and bringing it back into play swiftly, forcing Ranma to guard himself. He slashed at Ranma several times and Ranma's eyebrows rose as Jon made no move to switch hands. He also didn't seem to have lost any of his dexterity or strength, which was astonishing, and he was pushing Ranma.

"Hold!" Ser Rodrick bellowed, and immediately the two boys stopped and stood back. Rodrick strode across the training ground until he stood before them, looking down at Jon. "Why didn't you switch back to your other hand, boy?"

"I felt no need sir, and I thought that maybe using my other hand would throw Ranma of his stride." Jon replied, wondering if he had done the wrong thing

"It did, I was so surprised you were able to take the initiative from me." Ranma laughed, slapping his brother's shoulder. "If the bout had continued who knows, you might have won." _ Of course I was holding back a heck of a lot, but still__…_

Ser Rodrick stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It seems that you might have been born with the gift to have two dominant hands instead of one, Jon. I'll need to think of some training exercises for you to take advantage of that." He stood there for a moment thinking then shook his head and moved away. "You have another ten minutes, then its Theon's turn." The two boys nodded, put on their protective helmets again and waited until the master at arms exited the training area, never noticing how Theon was scowling jealously.

Despite this and other moments, the three boys continued to learn together, both in the training ground and in the classroom. Ranma spent far more time in the classroom than the other two now, learning about statecraft, tactics, strategy and law, all things he needed to learn as his father's heir. The lessons right now were easy ones, but with each year they became more in depth and much harder. One such lesson was history, and Ranma learning about the rebellion, began to have a good idea why Jon's birth was kept such a secret.

"Wait!", Ranma interrupted that lesson, staring hard at Maester Luwin. "The Lannisters betrayed the king? And then massacred his family? That's not right!"

"Many things happen in wars that aren't right, Ranma," Luwin replied sadly. "Although the deeds on that day were particularly bloody, they are not an exception, but merely an example of a general rule of warfare."

"Not that, I understood that part." Ranma scoffed, though he had some ideas of his own about what was right in warfare, what wasn't, and ways to enforce those rules, as well. But that wasn't what he concentrated on. "But isn't Queen Cersei a Lannister?"

"Yes she is. Besides being one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom, she is also the daughter of Tywin Lannister who is the lord of Casterly Rock, as well as Warden of the West."

"But isn't that like he rewarded them for their butchery? That's just wrong!" _Besides,_ Ranma thought, remembering that day several years back in the godswood. _That puts way too much power into one family__'__s hands._

"Perhaps it does sound that way," Luwin replied diplomatically. He knew Lord Stark had his own misgivings in that area, and had argued vociferously with his friend about it. "But at the time, the Lannister forces were rested, and they had control of the city. Robert had to do something to appease them, and to connect them to his reign in as strong a manner as he could."

Ranma's eyes narrowed angrily. "That doesn't make it the right thing to do. At least he should've demanded this Gregor Clegane's head, the children at least were utterly innocent!"

"Robert didn't think that way and he is the king," Luwin reminded Ranma. "He was there and you were not. Any child of the Targaryen line would have served as a rallying point for those still loyal to them, and the war may well have continued for years. As vile as the way of their deaths were, they were necessary."

"Using the word necessary like this is the way people try to explain away actions they know are wrong! It doesn't mean it was the right or honorable thing to do." Ranma replied fervently, with all the experience of a life lived in another time, another place, where he lived his life by the martial artists code. It was a code remarkably similar to that a knight was supposed to hold to, but if this Ser Clegane was a knight, then Ranma wanted nothing to do with the title.

"Enough!" Luwin barked. "You were not there, you did not live through the war, and Robert is the king. That is the end of it."

Ranma subsided, but his eyes told Luwin he didn't agree. Thankfully however, the rest of the lesson passed without further incident.

Ranma and Jon also did their best to stray friends with Sansa, yet this was made much harder by their great enemy: Septa Mordane. She was an elderly woman who had very certain and hard rules about propriety and the way a woman of standing should act. She had arrived a few months after Arya was born to take over teaching the womanly skills to Sansa, who had taken to them like a duck to water, almost like Ranma had to combat but not nearly at as high a level.

The Septa also had views about bastard born children thinking above their place and made no bones about it. That had caused her to have words with Catelyn, who had eventually ordered her to keep her opinions to herself.

She also felt that all boys, even brothers couldn't be trusted. After one incident involving Sansa sleeping in Ranma's bed with him during a thunderstorm, she refused to let Sansa spend anymore time then she possibly had to with the two boys.

To Jon and Ranma this just wouldn't do and a sort of low key war began. They did everything in their power to get Sansa away from her lessons or time with the Septa, making significant headway in some way, not so much in others. Sansa's opinion on her big brother was unchanged, he was still the best and funniest boy she knew, but in other ways Sansa was moving in a different direction.

The boys routinely convinced Sansa to come out and play with them during their free time, which was something Septa Mordane hated. She wanted to keep her charge inside learning how to sew, paint, or other things, not running around like a wild thing like the two boys did. It took Catelyn putting her foot down and Sansa actually telling them that she enjoyed sewing and other 'girly things' to stop the duo. She promised she would remain friends with them, but this was something she wanted to do.

So the two boys reluctantly stopped trying to convince Sansa to join them for their games, but they realized soon enough that not all girls were created the same.

OOOOOOO

Eddard shook his head, looking down from a second story window at his youngest playing with his oldest, the same type of slap game he had taught Jon and Theon, which seemed to be building up Arya's hand-eye coordination very quickly. The two had been playing tag for a while. Now they were sitting there simply playing with their hands and Arya's bright merry giggle rose to the window.

"I don't like it," Catelyn said, looking down at them as well from next to him, her belly now visibly pregnant again. Next to her a maid played with young Bran, now four years old. Normally he would be trying to keep up with his older siblings, but he had caught a cold the morning before, so Catelyn decided to keep him close for a few days until he was better.

"I don't like it one bit! I think it's wrong to fill her mind with such nonsense." Arya was absolutely nothing like Sansa. At eight Sansa was a proper little lady, always willing to listen to others, always wearing a dress, perfectly willing to stay inside and learn to sew, paint, or other things all day; the epitome of what a highborn girl should be.

Arya on the other hand… At six years old Arya was a right little hellion. She was completely uninterested in sitting down for long and loved running and playing outdoors with her older brothers, even Theon when he made time for her. "He shouldn't be encouraging her like that. Septa Mordane and I have enough trouble keeping her in her lessons without Ranma encouraging her in this wild idea of being able to learn how to fight eventually."

"And Jon," said Eddard looking at over where Septa Mordane had just come out of the keep, having been led a wild goose chase through the castle by Jon trying to keep her from finding out where Arya was. Jon had actually volunteered for this duty, saying the Septa already hated him, so she couldn't hate him more regardless. "I'll talk to them, though I don't think he'll agree."

"We can but try," his wife said sighing a little sadly. While Ranma was mostly a biddable young boy and eager to make his parents proud, when he got his teeth in the bit he tended to pull you along rather than the other way around.

In many ways, they were both extremely proud of their oldest son, not only because his moment of insight healed a rift that had infested the bedrock of their family in healing the distance between Catelyn and Jon (who despite this they couldn't' formerly recognize for safety's sake). Ranma was a very intelligent young boy. Once Maester Luwin got into his head a little, figured out what interested him, and how to make their lessons interesting, the maester hadn't had a word to say against him. Septa Mordane was another matter entirely of course, but thankfully Ranma didn't actually have lessons with her. Jon, too, was extremely intelligent, but it was pretty obvious which of them was the leader and which of them the follower.

Such was the way it should be of course, though without Ranma around Jon would probably have taken the leadership role himself. They occasionally fought, but their friendship was deep and the brotherhood strong, and they had extended that to Theon (to a lesser extent admittedly), Sansa, now Arya, and even Bran, young as he was. Despite the fact that Sansa didn't enjoy their games or do a lot of the activities they found so fascinating such as exploring the woods, climbing trees, or swimming; they still took time out of their day to hang out with her and she had fallen in love with Ranma's ability to spin tales for her.

As they watched the Septa tried to drag Arya back inside, but Ranma wouldn't let his sister go, holding her around the middle and then racing off with her in his arms faster than even a grown man could run despite the weight of his sister. Arya in turn was screaming out gleefully, "Faster, faster!"

Later that night Eddard did call Ranma into his office and set him down for a talk. He tried to explain Catelyn's position; that young women of their station needed to act in a certain way, that acting otherwise would cause them to have a reputation, or not to be able to be married off to good families.

Ranma stared up at him with that serious expression he sometimes had as if he was a much older boy and shook his head. "I understand that marriages are important father and that as your heir, even I will have to marry someone of a certain station. But Arya will do what Arya will want to do, the more you try to change her the more she'll fight back. Why not try to control what she's becoming rather than trying to change her?"

Eddard sat back, wondering about another young woman, and wondered if Lyanna would've run off if their family had been able to bend enough to let her be who she wanted to be. "I, I'll talk to your mother about it, though I can't agree right away. Possibly she can start having some exercises with you during the afternoons if she promises to pay attention to her lessons in the mornings." That would switch out the lessons that Arya hated most (decorum at the moment) with something that she would enjoyand hopefully she would also learn in a controlled environment. Who knows, maybe after she realized how serious she had to be to be any good at it, she would lose interest. It could happen right?

Catelyn was not happy with this decision, and they argued about it for days, but in the end Arya was allowed to learn from Ranma in their spare time and under the supervision of Ser Rodrick so long as she didn't make a fuss during her lessons with Septa Mordane. To Catelyn's shock Arya continued to take to her training with Ranma very well, and actually concentrated on her lesson with the Septa as well. She was nowhere near good, and you could always tell there was something she'd rather be doing, but with the carrot in front of her, she was able to concentrate well enough. And to further her shock, this seemed to help Sansa and Arya's relationship somehow. They still didn't understand one another very well, but they got along much more peaceably now that Arya wasn't trying to always act up in Sansa's favorite lessons.

OOOOOOO

A year and a bit past that conversation, and this idyllic time was broken. Nearly a month after Catelyn had given birth to another little boy they named Ricon, word had come that one of Eddard's vassal lords had been caught engaging in slavery. Slavery was something that had been outlawed in Westeros for centuries, one of the most heinous crimes ever: a crime against the laws of the old gods, the Seven and man, in the opinion of those in Westeros at least. In Essos, slavery was very well known and, in fact, was a core of the continent's economy, but not in Westeros.

"I must go, Catelyn," he said, kissing his wife on the cheek. "I am the one who passed the sentence, I will be the man to wield the sword. That is the way of the North, the way of my family.

"I understand," she said sadly. "I just wish you didn't have to go. But I well understand duty."

"Can I come with you father?" said Ranma waving his hand in the air.

Eddard and Catelyn shared a glance and Eddard nodded faintly. "It will be good to get him out of the castle, see a bit of the Northern lands beyond what he can in a single days trip. He'll be perfectly safe with my guards and me."

"He's an 11-year-old boy, he shouldn't have to see what you're going to do."

"I was younger when I first saw my father carry out a sentence," Eddard replied grimly. "Now is as good a time as any. I won't force any of the others to come along though, but Ranma and Jon yes." After a moment's thought, he added, "And Theon." Despite being with them for over six years, Theon was still a sort of outsider. Ranma and Jon had warmed to him at first but his own attitude and his continued needling of Jon had driven a wedge between them, cooling their budding friendship. Now they were close, but not that close, and it was obvious that Ranma and Jon were simply brothers and that was all there was to it to them. Many of the guards and servants (and Septa Mordane) saw it differently, but made little headway in changing Ranma's mind seeing as the rest of the family was happy treating him so.

Not ten minutes later, the trio joined a group of sixteen guardsmen, Eddard's personal guard as well as ten more men added to help guard the boys. Eddard leaned down briefly to kiss his wife again on the forehead and then said softly "We'll be back."

She nodded, and stood there watching the trio as they rode out of the castle's portcullis.

The ride continued for several hours and soon Ranma was getting bored. With a grin, he pulled his legs out of the stirrups on both sides of the horse and then pulled his legs underneath his body until he was actually standing on the horse's back. Then he pushed off quickly, leaping over the horse's head to land in the road a full five paces in front of it.

The guards all around him goggled, but he kept on running, now pulling the horse along easily. Eddard stared down at him in astonishment, so astonished he didn't even think of pulling up and asking his son what the hell Ranma thought he was doing or where he had learned had to do that.

Ranma grinned up cheekily at his father and said, "I was bored."

Theon and Jon broke out into laughter and Eddard shook his head. "If you want to tire yourself out trying to keep up with us on foot that is fine, my son. It'll simply mean you'll sleep better when you stop at night."

All around him his guards laughed as well. One of them asked, "Where'd you learn to leap like that, boy?"

Ranma chuckled. "Taught myself," he said, racing along easily.

The men looked at one another and shrugged then continued on their way at a canter. The hours passed but Ranma didn't seem to feel them, simply running on with a wide grin on his face as he looked around, seeing more land and areas that he had never seen before. He wished they could stop and explore, but for now simply running along was good enough.

Eddard looked down at his son from time to time, more and more astonished at his endurance and speed as the hours dropped away.

The master-at-arms who had come with them pulled his horse up and alongside his lord's muttering, "You see what I mean, my liege? Physically he is simply beyond anything I've ever seen before. And I've spotted him training in the early mornings and deep at night in the godswood."

"In the godswood?" Eddard said sharply, turning his head to stare at Ser Rodrick.

"Yes, Lord, he always hides in there."

"Interesting," said Eddard, looking down at his son who smiled up at him. Eddard smiled faintly then shook his head before leaning over to talk to whisper to Ser Rodrick. "I'll talk to him about it, there is something special about Ranma, not only his physical skills but everything else."

The ride continued. They exchanged horses twice along the way to keep going at a high speed. They stopped that night, camping out under the stars, before starting out early the next day. While Jon and Theon were weary and rather sore in their saddles, Ranma again seemed to be almost chipper. Jon wasn't nearly in as much pain as Theon was, which made sense given that Theon had spent his early years on an island and boats, so had never ridden a horse before he came to live as a ward of the Starks.

Ned noticed this, watching Jon pull himself up into the saddle easily despite his small size and the soreness from the day before, then looked over at Ser Rodrick.

The man shrugged. "He's trained with Ranma several times that I know of and I think they've been doing some kind of weight training as well. They're both past ready to switch to real blades in terms of strength, skill not so much just yet."

Eddard shook his head. "Well, if Ranma can teach someone else to be that much better than a normal boy his age, then it's obviously not some kind of magic or anything like that," he said just loud enough for the man behind him to hear and pass on. That would stop any rumors that his son was abnormal, though gods-touched, that would be harder to combat. It would also be nowhere near as easy for others to spin tales about and be believed however. _Even if it might be the truth__…_

As fast as they went however, moving from Winterfell to the Mormont clan's island in three weeks (a very fast time considering the terrain of this area of the North was even worse than elsewhere in the hard land), they arrived too late. Ser Jorah of house Mormont had already left, running away with his wife to the free cities of Essos.

While his father was dealing with this, Ranma went around exploring. Jon and Theon, with nothing better to do, followed him. Theon looked around, snorting in contempt. "This place is supposed to be a noble house? HAH!"

"There is more to nobility than the castle they live in or the clothes on their back." Jon retorted, though even he was surprised at house Mormont's seat. It wasn't a castle or anything like that; it was simply a massive longhouse made of timber and rock.

Yet despite that Ranma, with the mind of a 19 year old who had absorbed every lesson he could about tactics and defense, could tell this place would be incredibly difficult for any normal force to take. It was deep in woods that were rife with rocks and scrub trees, providing little cover for attackers while breaking up any kind of cavalry charge or infantry formation. The hall itself was on a hill that allowed archers stationed on it's roof to shoot down with deadly accuracy. Of course, to get here the Mormonts and the smallfolk they ruled would have to be pushed back from the rest of the island, a tall order considering what Ranma knew about the house, which was surprisingly little considering Maester Luwin's lectures. He knew they routinely battled pirates and always answered the call to arms from the Steward of the North readily enough, but that was all.

"Hah, what would you know about nobility, **Snow**?" Theon sneered.

"Enough," Ranma said, not loudly, but definitely, looking ahead of them. After a moment, both of the other boys looked that way as well. Around the back of the hill the longhouse stood on was a large cleared area and there were several people working out there. What surprised Ranma however, was that some of them were women. That didn't match with what he had learned about warfare in this dimension. _Although the carving of a woman in a bearskin with a child in one arm suckling at her breast and a battleaxe in the other on the entrance to the longhouse should__'__ve told me that this clan is different._

"What're you doing?" Ranma asked, looking at the young woman, who looked about 20 years old and who was practicing alone with a sword at the moment.

She was a stern looking woman, whose features were more striking than pretty. She had curves denoting largish breasts, but her overall body was toned and trimmed for war. She was also taller than most women, with broader shoulders to boot. "Practicing, what does it look like boy?" She said not even looking up.

"Can I join?"

The woman looked up at him, finally registering that voice as one she hadn't heard before. She stared at the little boy who had come with Lord Stark. "I don't think you're allowed, young master. Besides it wouldn't be a fair contest." she said smiling faintly.

"You want to bet?" Ranma asked, leaping easily from a standing position over the fence and into the training area. Jon and Theon immediately raced to the fence, smiling. This looked like it would be interesting. "What's your name by the way, I'm Ranma Stark." His smile widened as it always did when he said his name like that.

The woman sighed and put her sword down. "I am Dacey Mormont, heir to the clan after this business with my uncle, I'm afraid. And I suppose I can show you why no one dares to wrestle with the bear clan."

Ranma smirked. "Yeah well, there's a first time for everything."

The woman smiled a little wider at his confidence then charged forward, intending to give this boy a richly deserved thumping.

Ranma dodged to one side, tucking one foot between hers as he did tripping her to land in the grass. But Dacey rolled with this, coming up to her feet and turning swiftly, jumping forward to try and catch him.

But Ranma dodged to one side, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward off balance, then flipping her to land in the dirt.

Dacey's eyes narrowed then her free hand reached forward as fast as she could move while the hand he still held twisted, grabbing his wrist. Ranma moved with her, grabbing her other hand and, as she tried to get to her feet, flipped her a second time.

She kicked out but he broke her grips on his arms and dodged back, still smirking. With a growl Dacey turned, pushing herself up. This time she moved forward more cautiously, then backpedaled as Ranma went on the attack.

In the background, Theon and Jon began to hoot and holler, cheering their friend on. Several clansmen and women appeared at this point, drawn by the noise.

Five minutes later, Dacey was down on the ground with Ranma behind her holding her arms behind her with one knee on her back, pushing her down into the ground with all his weight behind it. "Give up?" he asked, grinning.

"Yes, now get off me," she muttered, embarrassed beyond belief that this young pup had beaten her like this. Yet, she was also in awe of the boy's strength, speed and skill. Dacey had rarely been beaten in wrestling since she was but a child and this young pup had beaten her soundly. A stirring of interest rose in her as Ranma let go and stepped back sharply, and she resolved to keep an eye on Ranma Stark from now on.

Maege Mormont, new lady of house Mormont, and Ned had finished their meeting quickly, thanks to there being little to do about Jorah now that he was gone. The fact he had fled with his wife had proven his guilt and he was banished from the clan. Maege was his older aunt and had never wanted to be the lady of the clan, but with her brother, Jorah's father, a commander in the Nights-watch, there was no other choice.

Drawn by the commotion, they had both come out of the longhouse in time to see the final few minutes of the match. Maege shook her head, never having expected her daughter to lose, and rather decisively too. "What have you been feeding that boy, Eddard?" House Mormont was notorious even among Northmen for their contempt for titles, even those of men they respected.

Eddard chuckled a little, though inside he was rather astonished. Despite his physical skills, he had not expected Ranma to be skilled enough to take on a trained warrior like Dacey, even weaponless. Despite her young age, she was a blooded warrior, and had seen some action against pirates and a few wandering bandit groups, even a boarding action against a rogue Greyjoy ship. Yet in hand-to-hand at least, Ranma had handed Dacey her head, not something most men could say considering the fact she was larger and stronger than most men, let alone other women even in her clan. _I will have to talk to him soon won't I? There is something very odd about my son._

OOOOOOO

That night, Ranma was surprised when his father told him to follow him after dinner. Normally he, Jon and Theon would be chased up to bed swiftly, especially on this trip. Still, Ranma wordlessly followed his father through the longhouse then out into the wildness of the land around it, and soon enough the two were passing from the normal woods into the local godswood. Like most Northerners, the Mormonts believed in the old gods, which was good since Ranma didn't think much of the Seven. _A schizophrenic God, I don't think so_ was the way he thought of it, and of course, in his past life he was a follower of Confucianism if anything, so the idea of an organized religion was rather bizarre to him.

The two walked on in silence, the silence of the night and the peace of the godswood enfolding them until they stood in front of the weirwood tree at its center. Once they reached the massive white tree, Eddard sat down in front of his son, somehow solemn despite the fact that no adult could ever look natural sitting on the ground with their knees up like that. Ranma sat down at his father's gesture, sinking into a lotus position easily, which made Eddard's eyebrow rise again at the odd seating arrangement, but it looked comfortable enough if you were limber.

They sat for a few moments of silence, then Eddard spoke. "I saw your fight with Dacey earlier. And I've been told by Ser Rodrick, you have taken to lessons about arms-training like a duck to water, sometimes so well it's almost as if you already knew the movements. I've also been told that you sneak out of your room at night to go training in the godswood alone, and that you and Jon get up every morning to exercise together."

"Yet most of the exercises you do and many of the moves I saw you use against Dacey earlier are not taught locally. A few of them look as if they come from Braavosi water dancers, but there has never been one of them in Winterfell as far as I know. Moreover, you're stronger and faster than anyone your age should be and have enough endurance for ten grown men. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Ranma nodded a little worried.

Eddard kept his voice level and firm, making certain that nothing he said came out angrily or with even a hint of condemnation. "So I have to ask, how did you learn to fight the way you do?"

Ranma paused for a moment wondering how to answer then he said "I know it isn't part of our religion, father," he said gesturing at the weirwood tree, "but do you know about reincarnation?"

Eddard nodded slowly, making a gesture for Ranma to continue. With a sigh Ranma said slowly, "I, I dream of another life." It wasn't so much that he dreamed about it obviously. Ranma knew this was a second chance and remembered practically everything that happened to him in his previous life. But he wasn't about to tell his father that he had gone to sleep as a 19-year-old on the run from his family only to wake up in the body of a baby with an entirely new family on an entirely new world. The reincarnation story at least would be enough especially since in a way, it was true.

"And what do you see in this life?" Eddard asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"In that life I wasn't a lord or anything, I was what was called a martial artist. Someone devoted to training in hand-to-hand combat." Eddard nodded, that made sense at least.

"I wasn't happy," Ranma went on. "I mean I was and I wasn't. I was good, really good at the martial arts, possibly the best of my generation, but my home life was…" He shook his head. "My father wasn't really my father. He…."

Ranma paused, "he wasn't very nice or kind or anything. And I don't think he was very honorable either, I have memories of him grabbing me and running away, being chased after we didn't pay for things. And another memory," he shivered a little, completely unfeigned. Since this was a mental issue rather than physical this too had carried over to his new body. "There's a pit, I'm young, I think I was six maybe a little younger, and he fills this pit with something, something I can't see in my dreams, and then he tosses me in."

"There are other dreams that stick out, most of them have to do with, well with pain," Ranma said looking down. "My mother was even worse, though I can't tell why, she just didn't like me. Most of my dreams though, concentrate on the martial arts."

"And is that why you have to push yourself so hard in learning how to fight?"

Ranma nodded trying to keep his apprehension off his face.

Eddard leaned back, gently reaching out and touching the weirwood tree for a moment. A sense of serenity and purpose filled him and he knew that whatever this previous life was, Ranma had his skills for a reason, and it was one the gods of old agreed with. That was enough for Ned. More, Ranma was his son.

With that in mind Ned reached out with gentle arms pulling Ranma into a hug. "Whatever you were in this old life of yours, in this one you are my son, and nothing you learn from your past life will change that."

Ranma sniffled a little, but pulled back and nodded fiercely smiling up at him. Eddard chuckled and stood up. "Now, I believe it's past your bedtime."

OOOOOOO

A few days later they returned to Winterfell and life continued apace. Ranma began to learn more and more about the duties as his father's heir while devoting as much time as he could getting into what he thought of as fighting trim. At last he was able to begin to control his ki, the life energy of his body, although there were severe differences from how it reacted now to what he remembered he could do with it in his last life. Of course when he was eleven going on twelve in his last life he couldn't consciously use ki at all but still, the differences were very odd indeed.

For one thing, projecting ki, even a little bit, was impossible. Even when Ranma tried using emotion based ki he couldn't do it, not even a little bit. Ranma wasn't certain if that was because he didn't have enough (unlikely, given the fact he knew his current reservoir was about the size it had been when he first learned the Moko Takabashi), there was some mental wall he had unconsciously broken through in his last life that he didn't remember, or that ki just didn't work that way on this world for some reason. Ranma didn't know the answer to that one.

For another, healing his body went slightly slower than it should have been, though that might be because this body didn't have the experience his old one had built up of letting him control its healing via ki. His strength and speed enhancements however, were coming back much faster and he had found that he could channel ki into a weapon for a short amount of time.

At this point, that was as much as he was willing to test out in terms of ki. Ranma wanted to get his base stats, as it were, up much further before he tried anything more.

In terms of Ranma's relationship with other people during this time, the relationship between him, Theon and Jon remained much the same. Jon and Ranma were close like true brothers, while Theon was Ranma's friend but not Jon's, and the tension there was made worse because Ranma made no secret as to who he would back. Jon and Ranma came even closer one day, after Jon had realized his brother was holding back.

That day Jon had just scored a touch on Ranma in the training area, and the two were putting their gear away when Jon stopped and looked at his brother. "You're holding back," he said bluntly, "how much?"

Ranma grimaced, looking around to make certain no-one else was within hearing range. "A lot," he admitted. "Not as much against you as you might think, but I'm not showing all I can do to anyone."

"I can understand that, I guess," Jon admitted, then went on more grimly, "What I don't understand is where your skills are coming from. I know you exercise alone at night and in the mornings, but that alone wouldn't account for it. And where in the world did you learn about using weight training from so young an age or all the odd exercises you've come up with. And don't say you just heard about all of them somewhere. That didn't make sense when I was five. It doesn't make sense now."

Ranma frowned a little then nodded, again looking around. "Meet me in the godswood after everyone else has gone to bed, we'll talk there."

Jon nodded, and that ended the conversation for the moment. Later that evening Jon exited the keep easily enough, then made his way to the godswood, finding Ranma waiting for him near the edge, up in a tree of course. Not saying anything, Ranma motioned Jon to follow him deeper into the woods and the two boys silently made their way through the woods without speaking. It should have been terrifying, all alone in the woods at night, but for some reason Jon merely felt welcome somehow, as if there was nothing here that would harm him.

He had always felt that way about the godswood, it was simply more welcoming, more personal and somehow more elemental than the sept where Lady Catelyn worshiped the Seven. There was something strangely ostentatious about the whole process there when compared to the simple and natural edifice of the godswood.

Soon enough the two boys had made it through the woods and stopped in front of the heart tree. The two sat facing one another directly before it and after waiting a few minutes, Ranma hesitantly began. He told Jon the same story/half-truth he had told Eddard.

After however, Jon didn't immediately rush to reassure Ranma that he still thought of him as a brother. Instead he said, "Why though? Why are you here then? Why do you have these memories? What purpose were you allowed to keep them to fulfill, what enemy were you brought here to fight?" At Ranma's expression he laughed. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I think its amazing and all, but there must be some purpose behind you being here."

"I don't know.", Ranma admitted. "I tried to ask the heart tree, but all the old gods would send me was a very jumbled, distorted vision of what might have been or what might be coming or something like that, I'm not certain. Men are a part of it, that much I'm certain of, but who and how, no idea." He glanced at his brother sharply, looking over to the North and the months-distant Wall. "But the other thing, is something cold, something that's hates all warm things."

Jon looked in the same direction and shivered. He thought for a minute then clasped Ranma's forearm in a warriors grip. "I'm with you." He snorted a laugh at Ranma's face. "Did you think I'd respond any differently? You're my brother Ranma, regardless of this past life of yours. I'll admit it makes me happy to know you're so much better than me because you cheated from the very beginning but…"

"HEY, I didn't cheat!" Ranma exclaimed.

"Of course you did. What would you call having an entire other life to call upon when outperforming someone? In fact, the fact I can keep up with you anyway probably means I'm better than you were at my age, doesn't it?"

Ranma tackled him to the ground and the two wrestled around laughing for a time, ending the serious discussion.

Ranma's relationship with Sansa also remained close despite how different they were, as well as with his other siblings. Ranma made certain to spend time with her, regaling her with 'made-up' stories, tales he had taken from his past life. Ranma was a very good story-teller, and all his younger siblings and even other children in the castle (and some of their parents) loved to hear them, even if they were all very silly. Arya, Sansa and her friend of course liked them the most, though Arya liked the combat while Sansa and Jeyne Poole liked the 'romance' in them, the brave pigtailed warrior fighting to protect the one he cared about from his enemies and their weird, bizarre magics and plots.

Ranma's relationship with Arya, however, became even closer because, despite their mother's disapproval the young girl loved to learn about how to fight, and she saw herself more as one of the boys than anything else. Ranma had a few clashes with his mother about that but with Arya reminding Eddard of his sister so much, their father always took Ranma's side. "And besides," Ranma was fond of saying, "since she's the second daughter, Arya might be able to marry for love rather than for politics, and if that's the case, whoever she marries will love her the way she is, rather than some kind of perfect little girl image of her."

Arya's relationship with her sister faded slightly as they grew up to be two very different people, and oftentimes when they were in the same room they would have issues, but neither of them sought out conflict with the other, and Ranma made certain to not pick sides. Arya also became close to Jon, who encouraged her just as much as Ranma did.

Bran was young of course, but Ranma made time to play with him as he had all his other siblings, though Bran didn't show the aptitude to any of the more martial games that Ranma taught him like Arya had. Of course, Rickon was still very young at this point but still, Jon and Ranma made sure to spend time watching and playing with him.

As part of his ongoing training in lordship, Ranma spent three hours every day with his father on top of his lesson with Maester Luwin. From his father, Ranma began to learn more about the personalities of the Northern houses, as well as the importance of land and estate management, and of course the history of their family, some of which he had already begun to learn from Maester Luwin. Ned, however, covered the family history more than Westeros history, making it come alive in a way the Maester could not.

Ned also started to take Ranma out alone to survey the North and meet the vassal lords that all owed him fealty as Steward of the North, and it was on one of these, two years after their journey to Bear island, that Ranma's next adventure took place.

OOOOOOO

"I know you're trying to show Ranma as much of the North as you can, but must you always ride out to arbitrate these disputes? Frankly I think it makes you look more like a supplicant than their lord." Catelyn grumbled.

Eddard looked down at his wife, smiling faintly. "Possibly it might," he allowed, "but that's why I switch it up of course." She opened her mouth and he shook his head. "I know you think I shouldn't, but this is the North, the nobles here are much more independent minded than in the South and very few of them have as capable a lady as I do." He went on much more grimly after that bit of flattery, "Besides it's not as if I'm bothered by small disputes, am I?"

Catelyn frowned irritably. The current issue that they were talking about was a dispute between the Lord of Dread Fort Roose Bolton and one of his neighbors, Lord Hornwood. It was a land dispute naturally. Both Lords claimed a plot of land that was actually one of the better farming areas in the north. It was technically part of Lord Hornwood's territory, but he had let it fall fallow, and several farmers under Roose's allegiance had moved in, then been kicked out, come back again, been kicked out, etc. for several weeks now. It was getting to the point where the local lords were threatening to call up their men, in order to go out and enforce their ownership.

Eddard did not like Roose Bolton. This was putting it mildly, frankly. He could never truly like or even trust a lord whose ancestors warred with your own for ownership of the North and who enjoyed flaying people alive and hanging their skins up. Especially those of your ancestors. There were still tales of Starks being flayed alive and hung up to dry in the halls of the Dread Fort. Yet for all of that, the man had served him well and loyally during the Greyjoy rebellion.

And in this case, at least, Roose was in the right. Farmland was a scarce resource here in the North and any along the edge of one noble's territory with another's could be taken and put under plow, if it was not already in use. In fact, that was one of the issues of the case. According to Lord Hornwood, his people had been using the land and had been ejected by Bolton's. But that didn't match with reports he had gotten from some of his factors in the area and Roose was far too clever to simply try to oust his neighbor's people from their land like that.

This issue was made worse by a report from Roose saying that his heir Domenic had disappeared while on an inspection of that portion of his territory. Roose was loudly declaring that if Domenic was not found soon, he would have no choice but to assume it was Lord Hornwood's men who had killed him, something that if proven correct (or if simply not disproven) would spark conflict between the two, an armed conflict that could spiral out to include the rest of the North.

This was why he and Ranma were leaving Winterfell again. He would've brought Jon and Theon as well, but they were grounded this week for fighting. No outdoor time at all until they could learn to get along. Eddard had not been told what had started the fight but he could guess. The fight had been broken up by Ranma smashing their heads together. When he heard that, Ned had actually laughed aloud in public for the first time in years, because he could picture that moment in his head, and it was hilarious. While he would've preferred Ranma to think more with his mind and use his voice to stop conflicts like that, there was something to be said for a direct application of violence at times.

Ned looked down at his son, who was once again on his feet alongside a horse rather than on top of it. Over the past few years since that first trip everyone had gotten used to the fact that he could run any horse into the ground. Catelyn had been appalled at first, but even she had learned to accept it, though she still thought it most unbecoming. People called him the Young Wolf in truth, since it was well known that wolves could run down horses over a long period of time and house Stark's totem animal was a direwolf.

He smiled up at his father and Eddard's turned his small warm smile down to his son. "Ready to go?"

Ranma nodded resolutely, and the group turned and set off with a final wave of farewell to Catelyn.

OOOOOOO

After a week's swift travel, the group had reached Hornwood land. They passed through it and arrived at the disputed land in another three days. Despite the distance being almost similar to that between the Glover's clan's castle and Winterfell, it was much easier territory to traverse, being rocky windswept plains and scattered forests rather than near constant forests.

They were soon met on the trail by Lord Halys Hornwood, who spoke quietly for several hours with Eddard, while the group watered their horses.

During this time Ranma wandered off. It should surprise no one who knew his personality, but surprisingly the young armsman who had been assigned to watch him during this break, had gone off. The Lord had brought his lady and one of her retainers along, who was a very comely wench. After several days of hard riding with only men around, she was a bit of fresh air to this group especially, the younger set.

Ranma looked around at the farmland that was stretching everywhere in this small little dale around a single river, surrounded on all sides by rocky hills, the vegetation fading into heavy scrubland in places and heavy, untouched forests in others. He counted at least six large farms in the area, with large two story houses made of stone, most of them looking like they had taken some damage in the past few days. He kept wandering, moving out and away from his father and their men as well as the Lord Hornwood's, until he was well out of sight. Not a one of the armsmen noticed him leave.

About twenty minutes later, Ranma had passed another ten large farms and had just crested a small hill when he suddenly heard a noise in the near distance, a whimper of pain from something nearby. It sounded almost feminine but he couldn't tell.

Ranma rushed toward the sound, speeding down the small hill and finding another separate house set a little ways away from the farmstead. Two men were holding down a woman, while the third was trying to rip off her dress while going down to his knees between her legs. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on and Ranma saw red.

Without any warning, he rushed forward and before the three even knew he was there a kick to the kneeling man's crotch sent him catapulting over the heads of his two fellows. The yowl of the man whose crotch he had just shattered resounded in the air and Ranma rushed the other two before they could recover. One man crumbled under a small fist that slammed into his diaphragm with all the force of a drop hammer, gasping out blood as his insides were smashed.

Ranma then whipped out his small knife (he wasn't allowed a real sword yet, not until he was fourteen by motherly decree), blocking the blow from the other man who had recovered enough to bring out a huge axe from behind him. The man grunted in shock as Ranma blocked his huge axe with a small knife and forced him backwards away from the woman who scrambled away, rushing into the house with a cry of "Sylvia!" on her lips.

Ranma couldn't pay her any attention however, because two men had come out of the woods behind the farm and were rushing to help their fellow. He disengaged from his locked block with the man's battleaxe, ducking away and trying to get in with a stab. The man jumped backwards leaving his axe in the ground to avoid Ranma's knife to his guts. By this time, his two friends had come up and now were ranged against Ranma.

Despite all of his training Ranma had still not regained the situational awareness that he had developed in his old body, which was why he was** almost** hit from behind by a blow from a mace that would've smashed in the back of his head. He dodged at the last minute, rolling and ducking again as another man came at him with a sword.

He suddenly jumped up, surprising them all with his speed and landing a kick to one man's face sending the brigand flying backwards his nose and jaw broken.

"The little brat has fangs," said the survivor of the first three Ranma had attacked, reaching forward to grab the battle ax from where he had dropped it. "Watch out."

"Don't matter," said another man, as two more men came out of the woods, allowing the group to completely encircle Ranma.

"Idiots!" said another voice coming out of the farmhouse. Ranma turned swiftly, trying to keep them all in sight and saw another man, holding the woman he had just saved. He was an ugly fucker, with sloped shoulders, pink and blotchy skin, a broad nose, a small mouth with wide lips, and small, close set, nearly white, dead looking eyes. "We can't stay here that long."

Another shorter man with the look of a rat about him, who even from where he stood Ranma could smell for some reason, held a younger girl by an arm around her throat. Her clothing was ripped off and even though she was sobbing brokenly, her eyes were wide and unseeing, as if she couldn't quite comprehend the horror that had happened to her.

The man, who was obviously the leader, pressed his blade against the woman's throat snarling at Ranma. "Drop the blade little hero, or the pretty girl gets it."

Ranma snarled, but despite his training, he knew he wouldn't be able to cross the ground before the man could slit the woman's throat. The man was also holding the woman directly in front of him. That left no place for Ranma to throw his knife that wouldn't hit her instead. "Damnit!" he muttered and dropped his knife.

The man with the mace came forward and cracked him a good one across the back of the head. Ranma fell to his knees, shaking his head groggily, but that was all. While he wasn't up to the durability he had achieved in his last life, Ranma was still tougher by far than any normal man in Essos.

The man looked at his mace quizzically wondering what the hell happened there. The leader shook his head. "You hit like a woman, Gorka." He smiled evilly. "Get a rope around him, bind him tight."

The men did so, while Ranma continued to shake his head, trying to clear it. The rope tightened around his neck, and he pulled forward, pulling the man off his feet and throwing him over his head to the ground. A scream from the woman, however, made him stop struggling. He ground his teeth, yet docilely waited while the men bound him. "When my father hears about this," he muttered almost in a conversational tone, "he's going to put you all to death so fast it will make your heads spin."

"Oh, the little hero thinks he's a Lord too," the leader cackled, not having seen that the Lord of Winterfell had arrived in the area. On top of that, while the news of Ranma's endurance and physical abilities had spread throughout the North, they hadn't included a description besides looking like a Stark with blue eyes, which wasn't exactly a good description.

Ranma grinned up at him fiercely. "Winter is coming, bastard." Another blow from the mace to the back of his head sent him down to the ground, but even then he was pushing off his feet before the other men finished tying them up.

"Don't hurt him too much, I think I just found a new favorite little toy," the leader said, smiling sadistically, despite the anger he felt at Ranma's chosen insult. He waited until Ranma was completely tied up, his hands behind his back, his legs tied together, and was being pulled to his feet by the men around him before looking down at the woman he was holding.

"Pity," he muttered, "I would've liked to take my time with you and your daughter, but needs must." In front of Ranma's horrified eyes, the man slit the woman's throat quickly and efficiently, letting her fall to the ground, her hands going to her throat in an automatic and vain attempt to stop the bleeding. The young girl next to her began to scream, but her voice was muffled by the smelly man's hand. At a nod from the leader, the smelly man snapped her neck quickly before letting the body flop to the ground.

Ranma had never felt as much anger or rage ever before as he did at that moment. He realized then that despite everything they had done to him, despite the fact that they were his rivals or his enemies, Ranma had never met someone in his previous life who was truly evil. This man and his followers were evil, vile, and disgusting; dishonorable and cruel in a way that he had never encountered in his past life. And the sight of that woman's body falling to the ground, falling to the ground dead after Ranma couldn't protect her, shattered his self-control.

He surged to his feet, head slamming back with enough force to shatter bone against one of his captors then rushed the leader, snarling. But he was held fast by the men behind them, six of them now holding the ropes trying to control him while a seventh raced up and slammed two more hard blows to the back of his head with the mace.

A third blow landed and Ranma finally lost the battle with his pain, falling forward, his eyes closing as he succumbed to unconsciousness. His last image was of the leader cackling happily, saying, "Oh, my new toy has such fight in him! I hope he can keep it up. My present toy doesn't have much fight in him at all."

OOOOOOO

It was only after he was finished talking with Halys Hornwood that Eddard noticed his son wasn't around. He looked over at the guard who had been assigned 'Ranma watch' as it was called due to his inability to stand still for very long and was displeased to see that the man was trying to flirt with Lady Donella's maid.

He marched up, waiting until the man noticed him and the man paled visibly. "Where is my son?" said Eddard coldly.

"I, um, he was just here, my l-lord," the man stammered.

Eddard nodded over to Sir Jory, who was the head of his personal bodyguards. "Find him." Jory nodded, quickly moving off in the direction that he had last seen Ranma, cursing himself for not noticing that the boy's minder had decided not to mind him.

"We will speak of this later," Lord Stark said rather coldly to his man. The man gulped but realized that he had screwed up badly. Yet who would've thought the idiot boy would've just wandered off? He thought about that for a moment then groaned. "Anyone who knew him you idiot," the man muttered to himself, and then joined the search.

They spread out and eventually found the homestead where Ranma had been captured. The two dead women and the three dead men scattered around told what had happened here and Eddard cursed Inside the house were another two bodies, both of them very dead as well, an older man and a boy of fourteen or so.

The dead men outside had all been stripped of their clothing and anything that could have identified them, and he frowned angrily. That alone was not something bandits would normally do and he wondered if Bolton might be behind this in some way, despite his earlier dismissal of that idea, but dismissed it again after a moment's thought. There was no way that the Lord of Dread Fort would be stupid enough to continue to push things here with Eddard arriving and there was no chance of him being idiotic enough to take Eddard's son.

He turned swiftly to the Lord Hornwood and ordered, "Get your best trackers here, now. They have my son and I will not rest until I find them." Ned just hoped his son was still alive when he did.

Not five hours later, the men arrived, having used several remounts to keep moving at a gallop. They spread out searching for a trail. These were men who were very good at their job. Some of them had even hunted deserters from the Nights-Watch, who were all cunning and desperate men. They soon found the barest hint of a trail and one of them raced backward to tell Lord Stark and Lord Hornwood the news.

Finding the trail led directly deeper into Bolton lands, Ned grimaced but decided to plan for the worst. "Send ravens to Lord Umber and Lord Manderly as well as Winterfell. I want your and Lord Manderly's ready men-at-arms here within a week, all on horse. I'll… I'll write the message to Winterfell myself. We march on the Dread Fort directly."

The one hundred men from Hornwood arrived within three days with the men of Winterfell on their heels. With scouts around in the nearby woods, their movement was kept a secret, but once they started to ride into Bolton land they would lose that advantage swiftly.

OOOOOOO

Ned stared down at Jon, who had somehow managed to talk his way into the troop of four hundred men from Winterfell. Winterfell could have called up more men if given time, but the lands of his house could only afford six-hundred permanent men-at-arms and of course some had to be left behind. That wasn't what Ned was thinking about now, however. "Jon…."

"I know what you are going to say, sir," Jon said. He always called Ned sir or Lord Stark in public, knowing that he shouldn't wave his bastard's status in front of other people. "But Ranma's my** friend, **sir." The word meant more here outside of Winterfell where he couldn't call Ranma the brother he was in truth. "I need to be here, whatever happens. I should have been with you all anyway; it's my own fault I fought with Theon." Theon had tried to come along as well, but he had been caught by Maester Luwin. Jon hadn't been caught until the troop was three days out and had talked Ser Rodrick, who was leading them, into letting him come. "I promised him that I would stand with him and I wasn't! I, I need to be here, sir, please."

Ned frowned but nodded. "Very well, but if there is any fighting, I will want you at the back of the army. Do you understand?" Jon nodded, but Ned somehow knew his orders were in vain. Yet at the moment, he was simply happy that his lady wife had not tried to come along to be too angry about Jon being there.

A day later, the two hundred men-at-arms of Lord Manderly arrived, each with three remounts, led by Ser Wylis, Wyman's firstborn son, a rather obese man in his thirties with a large walrus mustache and bald head. Despite their following the Seven rather than the old gods, House Manderly was among the most loyal vassals of house Stark. They were also among the most powerful in terms of men and riches, controlling many silver mines and the city of White Harbor, the only true city the North boasted. They practiced a cavalry tradition, unlike most of the North, and their stables were among the largest as well.

Ned smiled, seeing that his orders had been obeyed. _Wyman may be obese, but there is nothing wrong with that man__'__s mind. _He thought almost cheerfully, despite the circumstances. _The old Pufferfish probably knew what I had planned the moment he read my missive. I must invite him to Winterfell when this is all over, I haven__'__t introduced Ranma to him yet, and I think he could learn a lot from another example of good governance, and how not to judge a book by its cover._

That thought, however, turned his thoughts to his missing son and he turned to Lord Hornwood, a tall fit man with wide shoulders and a luxuriant brown beard despite being completely grey up top. "Let us ride."

Within minutes, the small army, only about seven hundred strong yet all on horseback despite mostly being trained as infantry, set off into Bolton territory. A raven winged its way to the other side of the flayed man's land and another force of three hundred began their own trek from the other side, Lord Umber at their head personally. The Lord of the Last Hearth had never gotten on well with his southern neighbor and if there was a chance to end the Bolton line, he would grab it with both his massive hands.

Around Lord Stark's army was a massive screen of two hundred scouts/rangers loaned to them from Lord Hornwood, who searched out any spies and scouts, bows at the ready to shoot down any ravens on the wing. Lord Umber's force was mainly infantry and was making no attempt to hide their coming in the hopes of pulling Bolton's attention that way just in case.

OOOOOOO

Ranma was barely aware of his surroundings for a time as his ki healing began to work on the damage his head had taken. His endurance and durability was nowhere near where it had been when he died or whatever in his old world, although it was actually slightly higher than it had been when he had been his current age there He had practiced over the last two years to get his healing back to the level it was when he ran away from Nerima. It wasn't anywhere close yet, unfortunately.

"I tell you, Ramsay," said one of the men around him, also on horse, "I hit him with all the strength of my arm. I don't what that boy is made of, but it isn't normal flesh and blood. Besides, have you ever heard of a a boy his age able to kill three grown men with nothing but his fists and a belt knife?"

"That just makes it all the more amusing," said the leader, who Ranma took to be Ramsay, in a psychotic tone. "Besides, if his flesh is that strong, then wearing it will empower me as well."

Ranma manfully suppressed a shudder at that as well as vowing that the first chance he got, that man was going to die. The memory of what Ramsay did to the girl and her daughter would stay with Ranma for the rest of his life. He kept his eyes closed, however, keeping his body loose and acting as if he was still unconscious, trying to figure out everything he could about his captors.

The group made great time, using the horses of their dead fellows as well as several remounts they had prepared. Ranma was constantly shifted from one horse to another, though there was always a rider with him as well. The one called Reek also used some kind of chloroform equivalent or something on him every few hours and after every stop.

They needn't have bothered though. While Ranma was strong for even a full grown man at this point, he wasn't strong enough to break the chains that now bound him without leverage and he was completely covered with chains, both his arms and his legs. _I'll have to bide my time,_ he thought,_ these bastards are taking me somewhere, maybe when we get there I__'__ll be able to break out._

Despite making great time, the group swung wide of their true destination, trying to throw off anyone trailing them, taking a week and a half what would have taken three days otherwise. Of course for some, this had a major upside to it.

Every time they stopped for the evening or to change horses Ramsay would make time to play with his new toy. This time ranged from taunting, punching, and kicking to, one time, running a knife from Ranma's shoulder down to his crotch, pressing it into him at times through his clothing, which had of course become rumpled, dirty, and marked with blood stains and cuts. Ranma however refused to cry out or give him any satisfaction and the man went away displeased only to come back the next time and try again, with each time doing more to Ranma in an effort to get a scream out of him.

All Ramsay got however, was twin blue eyes of chipped sapphire looking back at him, promising death. It was a look that Ramsay despised and it didn't go away whatever he did. He even broke Ranma's fingers on one hand, nothing. He snarled, but refrained from doing anything more as they were on the move. "Don't worry little toy, soon we'll reach home, then we can see what noises you can make when I have the time and tools to make you sing properly." His response was nothing, simply those sapphire eyes staring at him, and Ramsay finally nodded convulsively at Reek, who once more used whatever concoction he had created that was like chloroform to put Ranma out again.

Worse than Reek's concoction or Ramsay's torture was the fact they starved Ranma, giving him only water to drink and a meager bite or two of gruel every other day. Ranma could feel himself weakening and he was forced to shut his body down, falling into a deep trance as often as he could to conserve energy on the trek.

Ranma was startled out of one such trance two days after Ramsay had broken his fingers (which had already healed, though his captors hadn't noticed) when the sound of the horses' hoofs on the ground changed from hitting grass and dirt to hitting cobblestone. He didn't chance looking around, simply keeping his ruse going. The chloroform had worked well, at first, but like everything else he ran into, Ranma's body built up a defense against it. Now it barely worked for five minutes but he wanted to make damn certain he kept that a secret, as he had all along. It would make his eventual escape that much easier.

He felt himself carried inside by two men holding his shoulders but the chains they had put around him were still there, giving him no chance to escape. The sound of the chains around his legs rattling against the stone of the floor was loud in his ears but he strained himself to hear any hint of where the hell he could be or who his captors were.

OOOOOOO

Roose Bolton, a thin middle aged man with lank black hair and white, almost bloodless skin and white eyes, looked up from some paperwork he was working on at his desk when his bastard son Ramsay came in. The man was smiling that evil smile of his and Roose sighed. His so-called heir, Dominic, had been a massive disappointment, far too kind to be a proper lord, and despite skill with sword and lance not having anywhere near the amount ruthlessness or guile that the Lord of Dread Fort required. His bastard son was much stronger, had a very quick and nasty mind, and a flair for the traditional tools of the Bolton house. Despite this, however, he was also a little too uncontrolled, too sadistic, and far too easy to read. He could not hide his sadism, but that at least could be taught, unlike guile or cunning.

He had given the task of riling up Lord Hornwood to Ramsay a in an attempt to see if the boy could control himself. It was obvious he had failed however, and Roose was wondering if he should cut his losses and offer up the bastard's little group to Halys as recompense, dead of course so as to reveal nothing to him. But then he had heard that Eddard was actually coming here to arbitrate the dispute, and he decided against showing weakness in front of Stark. Reek, his son's putrid second-in-command would probably be sacrificed at the least, though the fact that his own son Dominic had 'disappeared' during this crisis gave him quite a bit of leverage.

"Why are you disturbing me?" he said in his soft, cold voice, which nonetheless carried very well. When the Lord of Dread Fort spoke people listened.

"I found a new toy, father," Ramsay said cackling a little. He moved to one side and two of his playmates as he called them, trooped in carrying a young boy of around twelve with black hair and wearing very good clothing of black leather lined with black and white fur on his shoulders.

Roose frowned then looked at the boys belt buckle, on which was a rampant wolf with a small ruby eye. His eyes widened slightly before he turned to Ramsay. "You fool! This is Eddard Stark's firstborn son! Do you have any idea what could happen now?"

Ramsay looked down at his new toy in delight. "One of those weakling Starks is it?! That makes it even better, father."

"You fool…"said Roose again, slowly walking towards his son, smashing a hand across his face sending the boy to the ground. Not for the first time he thought about simply killing the younger man and somehow finding a way to convince Dominic that Roose had nothing to do with his captivity. That was a dream of course, but Roose had wished almost from the moment he backed Ramsay against his trueborn son that he hadn't. Still that was the past and Roose couldn't afford to look back now.

"This could ruin us. It turns a relatively minor act of brigandry, the sort of testing that noble houses can get away with between ourselves, to an act of war against the Steward of the North, our Lord!" He turned to the two men who had dragged the boy in, one of whom he knew has one of the most levelheaded of Ramsay's little group. "Did you leave any evidence, could this be traced back to us in any way?"

The man actually thought for a moment, which was good. Roose would not have been pleased with a quick and simple answer. "I… do not think so my Lord, we covered our trail well, and we stripped the bodies of our dead of anything that could identify them. I have no doubt we could eventually be followed into your lands, but that is all, our destination would be impossible to find, I think. We may…" he paused looking at his Lord levelly, "have to cut a few of the men loose so to speak sir, but that should be enough."

Roose wondered about the dead men part, but figured that the little boy probably had a bodyguard with him when he ran into Ramsay. Ramsay was still on the floor, sniffling a little as he wiped at the blood coming from his nose, but he wasn't really hurt. Roose stared down at him coldly. "Get up, take the boy down to the dungeons." He stared down at the little Stark, and couldn't help himself, smiling a little at the idea of his family once again being able to skin a Stark like his ancestors had. "Do it quickly," he said, not mentioning what **it **was as Ramsay well knew. "This time tomorrow I don't want him to be recognizable even by his closest friends."

Ramsay nodded but was a little sad that he wouldn't have more time to play with his new toy. Still, he would obey his father for now. Ramsay knew he wasn't strong enough to challenge the old man yet but his time would come.

The Lord of Dread Fort stared at his son, once again lamenting the fact that his trueborn heir hadn't had any of the mental or emotional strength necessary to take over for him. The way he had searched out Ramsay in an effort to befriend him and then been fooled by the bastard of the woman Roose had raped nineteen years ago proved that much. Roose had consigned the fool boy to Ramsay's tender mercies at the time, yet ever since then… Roose shook those thoughts off again, ignoring the small pang of guilt he felt.

Ramsay was closer to Roose's ideal, but in comparison to a true heir it wasn't even a contest. Still, he would put up with the boy for now until he could find another wife for himself and get a child on her. There always had to be a Bolton in Dread Fort and Roose knew that chance and luck could take him at any time, despite his best laid plans.

The two guards followed Ramsay down the hallway, then down several flights of stairs deep into Dread Forts dungeons. Once there they moved towards the back of said dungeons to what Ramsay affectionately called his 'play area'.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had been awake throughout this entire ordeal. He had heard the name Lord Bolton with some trepidation and then a lot of anger. Whatever game Lord Bolton was playing here, he was part of what had happened to those girls, what had doubtless happened to other people since this conflict between him and Hornwood began, and Ranma's own kidnapping, which meant he was going to die too when Ranma got loose.

Once inside the torture chamber, Ranma's chains were swiftly undone but before he could move, he was as swiftly chained to the wall. His arms were chained at an angle above his head and his legs were chained straight down. However, there was enough give in his chains, and he slumped forward still feigning unconsciousness, while his heart began to beat faster and readied his body for action.

He heard the door close, and then someone smashed him in the face with a hand and he jerked back, his blue eyes opening as a growl rumbled deep in his throat, his teeth bared like fangs.

"Snarl all you want, little Stark, little doggy.", said Ramsay, cackling now. He moved over to some of his instruments of torture, 'toys' as he called them, and pulled out a long skinning knife. "You know what men do to wolves? They skin them."

Ranma coughed a little, leaning forward letting his body slump as if overcome at last at the idea of what was going to happen to him.

The man started forward, ripping open Ranma's shirt and lovingly drawing the knife down one side, giggling as Ranma's blood appeared. "Nothing to say little doggy?" He stopped at his shoulder, and began to cut a slither of skin off there, reveling in the bright blood that began to stream down his toy's side.

Ranma grimaced, coughed again and muttered something under his breath. "What was that? I want to hear you scream little Wolf, not mumble." and he dug the knife deeper into Ranma's chest, but Ranma didn't even flinch, only muttering again under his breath. "That's no fun, I want to hear you scream!" As he had hoped Ramsay leaned forward.

"I said," said Ranma suddenly in a clear voice while his head rocketed forward from where it'd lolled back, smashing into the man's face causing him to reel back a few steps, "you hadn't come close enough!" With a single heave he ripped out the chain binding one of his legs to the wall, kicking up and catching Ramsay in the throat crushing his larynx. He let his leg fall back and he lolled there for a moment, gathering himself and healing what damage the knife had done to his body as well as he could.

Ramsay went to his knees, both hands going to his throat and his small close set eyes opened comically wide, gasping for air through his small fat lips. Ranma stared down at him coldly, and the last thing Ramsay saw was Ranma pulling his arm free from one of side of the change that held him. "It's all about leverage, asshole. You should have let me tied up the way you did on our trip here."

After Ramsay's eyes clouded over in death, Ranma turned back and pulled his other arm free as well. The chains fell to the ground making a clanking noise, having been pulled out from their places on the walls rather than Ranma breaking the cuffs around his wrists. He let them fall for a moment, then played with them in his hands for a bit, getting the feel of their weight. "These'll do."

The ones on his legs though, had to go. Ranma reached forward quickly grabbing Ramsay's head and snapping his neck just to be certain. "That was for that woman you killed," he muttered, "The kick to the throat, that was for me." Then Ranma began to search the body for the keys to his chains. He found them of course. Ramsay always kept the keys to his toy's chains on him so that he could rearrange them to his liking. With them, Ranma unlocked the chains around his ankles and his wrists, but kept his hold on the chains in his hands. They would make good weapons until he got something better. He wasn't about to touch any of the tools in here.

He walked over to the door, peering out of the small opening at head height. He smelt that foul man who had been Ramsay second-in-command coming closer before he saw him. He backed away quickly, waiting.

Reek had to stable the horses first before joining his master to have some fun with the young Stark boy. Now he made his way alone through the dungeons, thinking sadly of the fun he could have had with the pretty little boy's body if they had time, but with lord Bolton's orders that wasn't going to happen. He would have to take his fun now and be happy with it.

He was about to open the door to the torture chamber, finding it odd that he couldn't hear any screams when Ranma kicked open the door with such force that its hinges came out and the entire door slammed into Reek, throwing him with an echoing 'Crash!' against the far wall. Before Reek could recover or try to push the heavy oak door off him, Ranma leaped forward, landing on top of it, one chain whirling down to crush Reek's skull.

With that, Ranma stepped off the door, pulling it up with one hand, while using the other to grab the putrid man and toss him into the torture chamber to join his master's body. With that done Ranma put the door back gingerly.

Ranma then made his way down the dank and dark dungeon corridor. About halfway down the deserted corridor, he heard a cough from one of the dungeon cells and he looked inside. All the others had been empty as he passed them, but this one had a young man who had obviously been very badly tortured. One arm was bent at an angle that was completely unnatural, each portion of it bent in a different direction including his fingers, and that hand was wrapped in gauze up to its elbow. The gauze, from the faint light of the torches outside the dungeon cell, Ranma could tell was soaked through with blood and the man looked emaciated.

Ranma looked around, making certain there was no one to hear, and then reached forward, wrenching the door's lock off before opening it quickly. He raced forward to release the man, using the same keys he had had taken from Ramsay to unlock his chains. The man stared at him woozily, seeing bright blue eyes under black hair, not the lanky, unclean black hair or light gray, almost dead eyes that he was used to seeing, and he wondered if he was dreaming.

He actually spoke that part aloud, and Ranma answered him quickly. "No you're not dreaming and if this is the kind of thing you dream about, I don't want to see your nightmares."

That line actually caused the man to chuckle a little. "A nightmare, yes, that's what my life has been. Possibly for far longer than I knew. I am Dominic Bolton stranger, and you are?" He paused fuzzily, looking down at Ranma. "Aren't you a little short for a rescuer?"

Ranma chuckled, remembering a line like that from a movie he saw once back in his old life, but didn't dwell on it now. "Not so much a rescuer as a fellow escaped prisoner. Ranma Stark, at your service."

Dominick's eyes widened. "Stark? My father has gotten bold indeed, or possibly lost his wits."

"If by father you mean Roose Bolton, I think that's his first name, can't quite remember from my lessons about northern lords anyway, then no. He was very angry when Ramsay brought me in."

That name caused a shudder of fear and revulsion to go up Dominick's back. "And where is the bastard?" He said looking around fearfully. He had been down here for three weeks, and for much of that time every time Ramsay was not out doing his father's dirty work he was down here 'playing' with Dominic. Some scars would never heal, and not all of them were physical, not even most of them in fact.

"Dead," answered Ranma, and Dominick's eyes widened in shocked joy. "I killed him when he came too close as he was trying to torture me." Ranma touched the scar on his side, and then the bit of scar tissue that covered the sliver of flesh Ramsay had removed from his shoulder. While his ki healing was able to heal the damage, at Ranma's current level with that particular skill, it wouldn't get rid of all the superficial scarring. Ranma would have a scar there for the rest of his life and that was the way it should be in his opinion. It would give him something to remember the day he finally saw an example of true evil.

"Anyway, I think we need ta get out of here. I'll clear a path, follow behind when you can, but grab yourself a sword as soon as you're able. There's one down the hall with that smelly guy, I'll just keep using these," he said holding up his chains.

Dominic looked askance at the heavy chains, which Ranma was holding as if they weighed little to nothing. "You're not exactly a normal young boy, are you?"

"What was your first clue?" asked Ranma, chuckling a little. Then he became much more serious. "Seriously, we need to get out of here. If we're lucky, we can get out of here before they sound the alarm, but the longer we stand here the worse our chances get." Dominick nodded fervently and got to his feet unsteadily, moving towards the doorway after Ranma.

OOOOOOO

"Alright, we've come this far without being spotted and it is only by the luck of the forest folk that we have. But for this last stretch, we will be in the open almost immediately." Eddard Stark stared around at his officers, Lord Hornwood, Ser Wylis, and Jon, who stood next to him protectively. All of them nodded grimly and he went on. "Jory, you take your men and break off now. Remember to loop wide around the Dread Fort. The rest of us will try to keep the defender's attention on us, but your attack is the key. We can't afford to let this turn into a formal siege, we don't have the supplies, men or time. Hopefully, Roose will simply tell us he knows nothing and open his gates, allowing us to use Dread Fort as a position to search his land for the brigands that took my son. But if he's in anyway involved, he'll try to play for time. If anyone else answers anything from the wall but Bolton, that will be your signal to go in. I know you've heard him speak before, you'll be able to recognize if it isn't him."

Jory nodded grimly, one hand on his sword hilt. Beyond it being their duty, Ranma was well liked by every guard in Winterfell and the hazing the brat who hadn't watched him was going to go through when they got back to the barracks didn't bear thinking about. If it meant getting Ranma back, Jory and the rest of his lord's bodyguards would do their part.

"If it does come to a fight, and at this point my gut feeling is it will, stay out of my way, all of you." Ned went on even more grimly, his hands crossed on the pommel of his greatsword Ice as it stood point first in the ground. It was a Valaryian blade, its features smoky, a mix of shades of grey, and its edge was preternaturally sharp to go with the strength of its steel. It had been the Stark family blade for uncounted generations and this would not be the first time it tasted Bolton blood. _ If my son is in that fort however, I mean for it to be the last, _Ned thought grimly.

"You all have a description of my son, when it comes to a fight watch out for him in there." He breathed in deeply, then nodded. "Let's get this done."

OOOOOOO

The first two guards died before they even realize their prisoners were escaping. Ranma was on them like a whirling dervish, his chains flashing out smashing into their faces and throwing them back.

Despite the fact that he could've stopped and taken their weapons, Ranma decided not to, the chains were good enough for now. That and the fact that neither of them actually carried swords, they both had knives on their belts but they carried spears. A spear inside the enclosed space of a castle was a rather stupid weapon in his opinion, but then again he was all about mobility and he brought his own stopping power to the game rather than relying on a weapon to keep his enemies at a distance.

Unfortunately this assault was seen by a few of the guards down the hallway, and one of them rushed off to sound the alarm while the other made his way forward confidently. That confidence died as he did, his spear smashed to the side by one swing of Ranma's left chain while the other swung in and took him in the chin with such force it snapped his neck and threw him backwards.

Four more guards stormed down, but Ranma ran to meet them before they could get set. Their spears thrust forward, but he jumped above them.

"By the Gods old and new!" One of them exclaimed before Ranma's chains slammed down with lethal force on the top of two of their heads crushing their skulls and their helmets in one blow. Then he was in among them pushing the dead bodies to one side as his fists, now empty of chains flashed out catching both of the survivors of his first attack in the crotches bringing them down to where his elbows could slam into their faces shattering their skulls.

These two had both swords and shields, and Ranma smiled grimly, picking one sword up and testing its balance for a moment before grabbing a shield. The shield was actually a little over a third his own height and he decided against it, letting it fall. The sword was enough for now.

He chuckled quietly wondering what Genma (he never called the fat man his father anymore even in his own mind, not after so many years having a real father in Ned) would say if he saw his son wielding a blade. Not even a katana, the swords in this world were all styles more closely resembling European blades. This one was a common one-handed longsword. For a normal thirteen-year-old it would be too heavy to really use, but to Ranma it was actually a little light.

With Dominic following in Ranma's wake, the older man's face showing shock and a sort of slowly rising fear as Ranma continued his rampage, Ranma made his way up the stairs.

He ran into guards in several places, and the news of his escape and rampage spread before him as he forged up to the first floor of the keep.

OOOOOOO

"Damn it, why did they attack him!", said Roose angrily. "If the Stark boy had just broken out and you had surrendered or called out for him to halt this could possibly have been kept quiet." Now, however, with Ranma having killed some guards that were wearing Bolton livery there was no way he would be able to sweep it under the rug except by killing the boy. He might have even been able to wring some concessions for saving the boy from his captors, possibly storming down with a group of his own guards and killing a few of the other guards in front of him, then delivering him to his father personally?

But now the only way forward was to kill him. And that wasn't going to be very easy, apparently. Roose wondered what kind of training the young boy had to get this good, that he was mowing through his men like this.

"B-but sir, the other prisoner, the one who we weren't supposed to name anymore, he's following the Stark boy," stammered the sergeant in charge of the prison guards.

Roose's eyes widened, his heir was still alive down there after so long under his bastard's tender mercies? _ Perhaps the boy had some steel in him after all, _-1490626157 he thought,sadly._ Other than the lack of a spine and his kind nature, Dominic could have been a better lord than Ramsay any day, but then he stupidly tried to befriend Ramsay. I thought... And now it__'__s going to bite me in the ass just like letting Ramsay take control of poking Halys about those farms. _

Roose's day was about to become even worse because just then a runner came in from the walls of his fortress. "Sir, Lord Hornwood and Lord Stark are coming down the road, they're bringing at least 600 men maybe more."

Bolton cursed. "Alright, I want two thirds of the ready guard to the wall, the rest are to head down to the dungeons and kill that boy. Make certain his body is utterly unrecognizable, then when you're done take all the bodies and stow them down there, wall them in someplace. There must be no hint of what happened here."

He turned to his seneschal and nodded his head toward the door. "Eddard won't attack quickly, he'll try to get us to open the doors. Stall him as much as you can but order the men on the walls to prepare to defend the castle." The man, a small weaselly sort who was utterly terrified yet utterly devoted to Roose at the same time, nodded and rushed out.

For the fifth time that day alone, Roose lamented once again not having killed his bastard-born son when his mother turned up at the gates to his castle. Still, he hoped that this could still be gamed and he turned pulling out his own sword from where it was over his hearth in his office, then moving over to don his armor. The armor was dark grey plate armor over a quilted tunic of blood-red leather with rondels shaped like human heads, their mouths open in agony. Bolton and his house knew the value of fear. His armor was an extension of that belief. There was a reason, after all, why his banner was still that of a flayed man decades after flaying had been outlawed.

OOOOOOO

Ranma battled his way through the guards, tirelessly dodging this way and that, always attacking pushing his captors back, leaving a trail of dying and broken men in his wake. In an open battle, this number of men would have been able to kill or at least overcome him, but in an enclosed space, with only four of them able to come at him at a time and with the ones behind them pushing them ahead and getting in their way? In a way, his smaller body actually helped, letting Ranma be more maneuverable and have enough room to swing his blade in much more cramped locations than the men in front of him while at the same time making him far harder to hit.

A time or two, he was almost taken by surprise from behind as he passed doors leading into cells and storage areas, but Dominic had taken a spear from a dead armsman and guarded his back well enough. Despite the fact that his one ruined hand didn't really lend any strength, Dominic still had one good hand and the bleeding and flayed hand was enough to help him at least direct his spear to stab his enemies. "If we get out of this, the bards will write a song of your heroism!" he shouted over the clangor of battle.

"Why the hell would I want that!?", asked Ranma, cutting one man from one side to the other as his fist smashed into another soldier's kneecap from the side sending him screaming to the floor. A kick to that man's face finished him off and Ranma brought his sword up and around flashing it out to catch another blade as it slashed forward pushing it to the side then shoulder ramming that man back into two of his fellows before bringing his sword around to rip into the man's chainmail slicing his chest open.

"What, why wouldn't you want to be remembered in song and story for all time?" Dominick asked almost whimsically. So far the battle had been relatively easy for him, and that was all to the good since he wasn't really up for much activity given his stay in the dungeons and his bastard brother's 'care'. Still even with that he could feel his body giving out around him, and it made his attitude very odd. "I wanted to be a bard you know, I never really wanted to be my father's heir, that was part of the reason why I sought out my half-brother."

"That's nice," Ranma said, not really having the attention to spare to hear the young man's sorry tale, "but if you make a song out of me you better be accurate, no flowing blonde locks or anything like the bits that are so popular in the songs and stories my little sister likes."

"Would you mind howling a bit then?" Dominic joked. "The 'Wolves of Winter' I feel would be a magnificent name for the tale."

Ranma laughed, and then began to howl "AWOOO! Winter's coming for you! AWOOO!" The phrase and the howling was enough to scare the guards in front of him even more then their normal (and very understandable) fear of their lord and they began to give ground.

Soon Ranma came to the stairs leading up to the first floor. Dominic slumped against the wall, weakly pointing upwards. "Up, up there it's going to be much harder. They won't be able to attack us from just one direction or hide in the cells and wait, they'll be, be able to, to attack us from every direction at once."

The dimensionally displaced martial artist nodded, looking at him closely. "Alright, you don't look like you're going to be good for much more. Find a room, barricade yourself in, and see if you can stop your bleeding." Above them he could hear shouts and curses as more men tried to psyche themselves up to come down and face the wild beast they had let into their castle, and he smirked. "I can watch my own back well enough, get yourself hidden and safe."

Dominic nodded weakly, his every movement taking far too much energy from him, and he turned back, entering the nearby guardroom, which only had one entrance, and whose door was heavier than the doors of the cells. He could see there was also a bit of food left on the table, and he fell on it ravenously.

Now alone, Ranma stormed up the stairs, his eyes alight with battle fever and a new longsword in his hand, the first having shattered moments before. "WINTER IS COMING! AWOOOOOOO!"

OOOOOOO

Normally, Roose would've been correct that Eddard would have tried to talk his way into the fort of one of the lords owing him fealty rather than simply bully his way in, but he was a worried father now not just a lord. He and twenty men raced ahead of the rest of the force, which was coming on at a canter toward the closed portcullis of the door. "Open in the name of Lord Stark, Steward of the North!" one of his men bellowed.

The seneschal had reached the wall above the gate, and he shouted down "What is the meaning of this? Even the Steward of the North must send word ahead to his vassals if he expects to be welcomed."

"Open," said Eddard in his booming voice, staring up at the man with hard brown eyes. "I have business with lord Bolton."

While Eddard kept the attention of the men of Dread Fort himself and his forces, Jory led fifteen handpicked men around the back of the Dread Fort, having split off before they were in sight of the fort and moving through the forest and scrub brush to the back of it. Now that all of the attention was on his Lord at the front, they began to repel up the wall of the fort at the back, moving swiftly.

Only three guards had not abandoned their post at the back to join their fellows at the front of the castle. Jory swiftly subdued all three one after another. He was one of the better blades of his lord's retinue, though he secretly wondered if Ranma was already his better in that area. Jory took a moment to stare down into the fort towards the main castle, a four story squat stone edifice that did not have anything in the way of grandeur or accoutrements to it. Instead it squatted here and the entire castle gave of the air of a man hunched against his surroundings, teeth bared in a snarl, an impression enhanced by the triangle shaped balustrades along the outer wall.

Behind him his men came up and Jory nodded. "Follow me, we'll open the door for our lord, and then he and the others can finish this." The men around Jory all grinned back at him fiercely and he nodded.

They raced down and around the wall to the gatehouse, barging in and swiftly subduing the men stationed there. They were under orders not to kill anyone, but their lord was too worried for his son to even try to tell the men to obey that one. If his son wasn't here he would probably have to pay Roose quite a bit of money for the dishonor and the probable loss of life his assault caused, but that was for later.

Even as Jory and a few of his men began to raise the portcullis to shouts of alarm from above them, a some of the rest began to barricade the door while two more looked out the window facing the entrance to the inner castle. Several dozen men had been in the courtyard but rather than racing towards the wall they had all been racing into the Castle. "I wonder what's going on?" one of them muttered.

Another, one of the ones who had recently taken to sparring with Ranma shook his head smiling faintly. "I think the Young Wolf is causing issues with for them."

At that moment Jory finally finished opening the portcullis, and the 700 men with Eddard stormed in.

Roose usually had about 400 men under arms at any given time in his fortress, a very large amount and the upper limit of what he could support without disrupting the economy of his territory. By the time the news had reached him of Ranma's attack, Ranma had killed about 80 men moving up from the dungeons. By the time Eddard arrived, that number had rocketed up to a little under 150, and more and more men were being thrown down into the dungeon to stop his advance.

That left a little over two-hundred or so to stop Eddard and the 700 men he led into battle today. Without Roose to command the defense and keep all the men at their posts, it had been easy for Jory to sneak in. Once the portcullis was opened the battle was, like many of the defenders already knew, practically over.

Among the shouts of 'Our Blades are Sharp', 'Winter is Coming', 'Stark!", and other shouts, Ned and a cadre of his best stormed through the battle towards the entrance to the keep. One of them dragged along the seneschal, who was still protesting this unilateral assault on his Lord's dignity, but Eddard was past hearing. The moment they entered the keep they could hear the howling and roaring of battle. Ned drew Ice with one hand, his other carrying a shield and he roared, charging toward it. Next to him, Jon raced along, his face pale but determined to help save his brother.

OOOOOOO

Ranma had just broken out from the dungeon area up to the first floor, which contained kitchens, pantries, and other things of that nature, fighting his way through them. Here he got bogged down however, because many of these rooms connected to one another allowing the men to circle around behind him, much like Dominic had predicted.

He grunted taking a blow to the side as he twisted out of a doorway, pulling the man who had struck him with a mace forward by grabbing his hand, and bringing his sword around to cut the soldier's head off. He kicked the headless corpse back out of the doorway, dropping the now somewhat mangled sword and grabbing up the mace, slamming it into the chest of a man who had just tried to jump over the dead body, throwing him back.

Two more men came out from the kitchen behind him, but Ranma turned, leaping into the air over their questing blades, slamming a kick into one soldier's face, then bringing the mace down on the other. Both fell dead and he used the momentum of those blows to flip through the doorway slamming bodily into two more. His mace rose and fell swiftly, but then he had to roll to the side to dodge a sword thrust.

Another soldier came at his back, and even though Ranma dodged, the man's sword caught him along the back, slicing a narrow cut down his side before Ranma's mace came back in a massive blow, caving in the man's head. A kick sent the man in front of him reeling backwards, his chest open for the returning swing of Ranma's stolen mace.

Ranma cocked his head, jumping up at the same time when someone tried to stab his legs from below bringing down his mace on the man's head almost absentmindedly as he heard the sounds of battle coming closer. "I think Bolton has other issues now!" He shouted, "Winter is coming, winter is coming!"

He was answered by a shout of someone else saying the same thing followed by "Hang on my son, we're coming!"

Another lighter voice shouted out, "Ranma, brother, we're here, stay strong!"

The men between Ranma and the attacking forces of his father melted away, trying desperately to regroup and get to a higher level of the keep, but most of them were too slow. Many of them were surrounded and ordered to surrender. If they did not obey that first shouted order, they were cut down without mercy and Eddard's men stormed forward. He was slowly losing control since half these men were from Lord Manderly and Lord Hornwood rather than Winterfell. They had long hated Bolton and wanted to put an end to the entire family, but Eddard was not a man anyone in the North would disobey lightly and he was able to keep the reins well enough to keep the servants at least, from being killed along the way.

Jon had trained with Ranma for practically his entire life. He was faster and far stronger than his age or size would suggest, by far, which stood him in good stead in this battle. He ducked under the sword of the first man who attacked him, burying his own blade into the man's chest, before kicking the new corpse in the chest, sending him back against one of his fellows, who lost a limb in a small economic blow before his sword returned to defend him from another soldier's blade, which he turned before shoulder charging the man, opening him up for a stab from the knife in his other hand.

Like Ser Rodrick had thought, Jon was truly ambidextrous and had learned to fight with both sword and knife. This wasn't unheard of in the North, but it was unusual in one so young. His speed with both blades coupled with his strength proved enough to see him through.

Yet even as he fought, he had to push back a feeling of awe as he watched his father cut his way through Bolton's men.

Eddard Stark had not survived against three of the best blades of Aery's Kingsguard by chance alone. He wasn't one of **the** best blade in Westeros, but the difference was very narrow indeed, and he was both quick and strong for his size and in the prime of his life. Ice was a two handed weapon for most, but he wielded it with ease in one, taking three men in quick succession, using his shield to block blow after blow from others, though it began to falter under the continued pummeling.

He ducked under one slash, bringing Ice up to block another, ramming his shield forward throwing the man off his feet and bringing Ice around in a blow that took the man in the chest, throwing him backwards in a splash of blood. His shield intercepted another blow, finally cut through, but it was enough and Ice returned swiftly, taking the man in the head with a blow that clove his helmet open, spilling half his head onto the castle's stone floor.

Ned used his sword two-handed now, throwing off the battered remains of his shield, hacking and slicing his way forward, his face covered with the gore of his victims as he stalked forward. "I'm coming my son!"

He suddenly stopped however, seeing a group of nine men breaking from the doorway up to the higher levels of the keep, heading straight for the doors, cutting down the men in front of them. One of them was Roose Bolton. He could tell from the plate armor he wore, as well as his dead eyes. "Roose!" he yelled angrily, "To me! Face me traitor!"

Roose turned, and for a moment, Eddard could almost see the thoughts flashing over his face. He had been close to breaking out, if he could break out, he may rally the men of his land to him, possibly even force Eddard to back off, now that he had his son. Perhaps even be able to blame the whole thing on the fact that his bastard son had been acting out, but then he saw Ranma burst out from another doorway following three of the Stark men, including Ser Jory, who cut down two men as they forced their way through the bedlam of combat. And then suddenly the keep's door was filled with more men as Lord Hornwood led his own personal guard in.

With that, Roose knew that his time was up, and he decided that if he was going to go down, he was damn well going to go down swinging. "Our Blades Are Sharp!" he shouted and ran towards Eddard.

Ranma saw his father and Roose clashing, and darted forward, slamming his shoulder into one man's side, throwing him up into the air to catch him on the back swing with his mace whose haft shattered under the force of the blow. The man's face completely disappeared and Ranma dropped to the ground, using the piece of the haft still in his hand to stab a man in his side, causing him to scream. Ranma grabbed the man's sword and brought it around to cut into his throat.

He let that body fall as Jon leapt in, taking up position at his brother's side. Jory tried to keep up, but Ranma didn't even notice him and he grinned wildly at Jon. "Together brother! AWOOOOOOO!" The two boys charged forward, taking two of Bolton's personal bodyguard, driving them away from their lord, as Ser Jory danced forward blade flashing and taking another two.

The other four became embroiled against Lord Hornwood and his men. Halys shouted happily, "We've got your back Lord Stark, kill that undead leech!"

The two lords circled one another, their blades flashing out a time or two to test each other's defenses. "Why?" said Eddard. "Why did you take my son?"

"I didn't," said Roose, blocking a blow with the speed of a striking snake as Ice quested for his face. "My bastard son brought him here, I could say against my orders and it would be the truth, but would that matter now? Events have come too far to back out, much too far for me." Roose loosed a vicious thrust toward his enemy's chest.

"No," said Eddard, smashing his blade aside and moving swiftly forward, "it wouldn't." It became swiftly apparent that Roose did not have enough skill to truly hold Ned off for long. And he fell back, wincing as Ice sliced into his armor, cutting it away like butter.

He attempted a parry then a thrust, trying to catch Eddard off guard, but Ned danced back swiftly, and Ice flashed forward. Roose tried to dodge, tried to pull his hand back, but he was too slow. He gritted his teeth as Ice slashed into his wrist, cutting his hand off cleanly right behind the vambrace. He tried swiftly to pick his blade up with his other hand, but stilled as Ice came back, the tip pressing into his throat.

Behind him all of his guards had fallen, and Ranma dropped his liberated blade to the ground. All around, the clangor of battle slowly receded, as the few remaining Bolton guards either surrendered or died where they stood. Two men came forward grabbing Roose by the shoulders and pulling him up and away. Eddard slowly pulled his sword back, before kneeling down to wiped the blade off with a bit of cloth. Then he swiftly left it there and marched forwards towards his son pulling him into a hug, reaching out with one hand to ruffle Jon's hair. "I thought I lost you boy!"

Ranma fought back tears, once more realizing that his father in this life truly did love him, and his arms went around the older man with enough force to make his ribs creak. One hand then loosened enough to sneak out and grab Jon, pulling him into the hug for a moment before Ranma pulled back to look up at his father. "Sorry Father, I went off for a walk like normal but…" The whole story came out from Ranma's perspective, including what he had overheard when his kidnappers thought he was still unconscious when he first arrived.

After that, Dominic was quickly found and brought up from where he had forted up in the dungeon, the men whispering in awe at the droves of dead bodies from the men who had tried to fight Ranma. On unsteady feet while two healers worked on his arm Dominic told his own tale.

This took several minutes during which Eddard's face went from joyous at his son's survival to grim. He once more looked down at his son as the murmurs began at his survival and victory, and at how many soldiers he had killed this day among the men around him. _What do the old gods have planned for you my son? _ He thought to himself as he ruffled the young boy's hair.

Ranma looked up at him with a smile, dim now as the memories of the battle hit him, but still warm and Ned smiled down at him with that small but warm smile he reserved for family. Jon too earned a smile, having fought hard and well, and the two boys stood side by side next to their father. _What do the old gods have planned for you that they would challenge you this way at so young an age, Ranma?_

For some reason, Eddard knew that answer to that question would terrify him, but he purposefully set it aside for now. Whatever would happen in the future, right now Ranma was a young boy who had just been through an experienced no man should ever face. _And until whatever comes, he will still be my son, as I told him two years ago, _he thought grimly, _and I will defend him with all the breath and all the power of my body._

He moved away from his sons rather reluctantly, picking up Ice again from where it had lain on the floor. "You have heard the witnesses against you, Roose of the house of Bolton. Do you have anything to say in your own defense?"

Roose stared up at him angrily, cradling the bleeding stump where his right hand had once been. But then his eyes went to Dominic and he sighed, all his anger leaving him. "Chance, fate, and one ill-chosen choice have brought me down. I backed the bastard born Ramsay against my own trueborn son because I thought him the better choice, closer to the ideals my house has used to rule this land. I was wrong and that has proven my downfall. I have nothing more to say. Do your duty, Stark."

"So be it." Ned looked over at his sons for a moment. "Our family has been the Lords of the North for thousands of years, my son, and throughout all that time there has been one unofficial law that we have adhered to: the man who passes the sentence must wield the sword."

He turned back to Roose. "Roose of house Bolton, you are condemned for your crimes of conspiracy to commit murder, murder, inciting war with your neighbors, and abetting torture. The sentence is death and it is to be carried out immediately." With that Ned raised Ice into the air and brought it crashing down. With a single blow, he decapitated Roose Bolton, the undead man, the Lord of Dread Fort of the flayed man banner.

After a moment's respectful silence, Eddard turned, wiping the blade off again, and pointed at Dominic with his free hand. "You will come with us, you are now a ward of Lord Hornwood, who now owns the land from this fort back to his former border with the former house of Bolton. By my decree, when you marry you will change your name to that of the lady you marry, or you can take the name of Snow after three years. There will be no more Boltons in this land. House Karstark and house Umber will be given the rest of the land to hold in faith, in this way no one lord will benefit too much from the fall of your former house."

Dominic smiled, tearing his eyes away from his father's body. "I would like nothing better my lord. I never wanted to be a lord anyway, I will become a bard, and bards cannot own land."

Eddard nodded then looked over at Halys Hornwood, looking the man in the eye. "Your first order of business," he said, waving his hand around, "is to tear this place down, root, and branch. Within a year I want not a single stones set on stone here. I want there to be nothing of house Bolton remaining but in the history books. Only the godswood is to remain untouched."

Halys smiled grimly and nodded. "I will see to it my Lord." Of course he probably wouldn't be able to keep all the Bolton land, Roose did after all have other neighbors but if he could keep even a portion of it he could enrich himself tremendously. Moreover, the idea of tearing this place down had been a dream of his family for generations. Plus while house Umber may be even gruffer and lacking in polish than house Mormont, they were good and friendly neighbors, and the Karstarks were old allies of his house.

With that, Eddard turned back to his son putting a light hand on his both his sons shoulders while Jory came forward with a cloak and shirt for the boy. "Now, we need to think about what we're going to tell your mother."

OOOOOOO

Of course it wasn't that simple. Ned needed to stay there and apportion the former Bolton land himself so that none of the three lords felt slighted. This took several weeks as both Lord Karstark and Lord Umber had to actually travel to (or in BigJon Umber's case finish traveling to) the Dread Fort. The men who had served lord Bolton had to be paroled, his minor lords and land owners needed to be told about the change of ownership and why, and any spurt of rebellion quelled before it could occur.

Yet Ned was smart enough to know that keeping Ranma with him for this part, while undoubtedly a good experience for him, would lead to Cat not speaking to him for months. Even with a raven being sent to Winterfell the moment the battle ended, Catelyn and the rest of the family were beside themselves with worry. So Ned sent a hundred of the men from Winterfell back with Ranma and Jon.

Of course by the time they set off the rumors of what Ranma had done had spread throughout the small army. For once, a tale did not grow in the retelling. After all, it was very difficult to add to the tale of a year old boy wiping out over 150 trained men-at-arms in close quarter combat and that after having been starved for over a week and tortured occasionally during that time, besides.

Jon's deeds, too, were a tale, though a far smaller one. He wasn't the first thirteen year old to fight a battle after all, but in that short battle he had accounted, according to rumor, for twenty dead. This was an astonishing number considering how short the battle had been and second only to Ned Stark.

Still, with the apportioning of the Bolton lands to think about and work beginning immediately on tearing down Dread Fort, the rumors slowly subsided, replaced by other ones as the secret rooms of the Dread Fort were aired out and their secrets found. It would still solidify the start of Ranma's legend however and the lords of the North would start to send their heirs and sons to meet their future lord and learn from him. This would solidify the hold of the Stark family on the North, making vassals into allies and allies into friends. A cancer had been cut from the north before it had chance to bloom and the whole was stronger for it.

Yet for all the fact the tale spread over the North, it didn't make it south. It might have, if a certain spymaster had any of his little birds in Bolton land, but he didn't at this point in time. Tales of the sack of the Dread Fort did of course make it to King's Landing and beyond, but the news of Ranma's skill did not, save in fireside bards tales, heard but not believed. After all, there was no way a boy of thirteen could kill over a hundred and fifty men was there? No, the story was obviously made up.

That was for the future however. For now, Ser Jory and a hundred chosen traveled back to Winterfell with their young charges. During this time Ranma was almost constantly eating every time they stopped to water their horses, a reaction to having been starved for a week. Jon stayed close to him the entire time and on the third day finally blurting out, "I'm sorry! I should have been with you! If I hadn't fallen for Theon's stupid teasing, I would have been with you, and we could have beaten off that murderer Ramsay and his men."

Ranma took a moment out of his eating to look at Jon for a moment then replied, "It wasn't your fault. It was no one's fault but Ramsay. And Roose too, for letting him do whatever he wanted unchecked. Would I have liked for you to be with me, sure, but it wasn't your fault I was captured." He frowned, remembering how Ramsay had taken that woman hostage and used her as a shield, forcing Ranma to surrender.

Jon frowned, unwilling to let go of his guilt and Ranma sighed. "Jon, trust me, it wasn't your fault. Try not to let Theon's taunts get to you from now on and that'll be enough. You know he only needles you because he doesn't like the fact that a 'bastard'," Ranma rolled his eyes at the word, taking any sting out of it and actually making Jon chuckle, Ranma always did that when his birth status came up for some reason, "is so much stronger and better at him at everything but archery. It's been the same problem since the beginning."

That caused Jon's smile to widen slightly but that was all. "Alright, I'll agree it wasn't my fault, but I'm still not letting you out of my sight from now on. Who knows what kind of trouble you could get up to next time!"

"Hah, as if that's ever worked before!" Ranma laughed, pushing his brother in the shoulder. Then Jon responded in like kind and they broke out into laughter.

Soon enough however, they were back at Winterfell, and for the first time in either of his lives Ranma had to deal with being smothered in motherly worry. Catelyn actually pulled him off his horse into her arms, saying "Oh my baby, what did those animals do to you, I'm never letting you out of my sight again!"

Hearing Lady Catelyn say the same words he had used caused Jon to nearly fall off his horse laughing, while Catelyn kept hugging and smothering her son with love for a few minutes before pulling back and looking at him.

She could see he was still slightly gaunt from his time being starved, and while she could not see the wounds on his body, his eyes told a different tale. Despite the smile on his face and the warmth in his deep blue eyes, there was a new-found maturity and experience there. _My boy has become a man_, she thought sadly, _far too soon, and in a way no mother would ever wish for such to come to pass._

After that little Arya and Sansa rushed forward to hug their wayward brother, followed by Bran and even a toddling Rickon. Ranma smiled happily, once more surrounded by his family again. The darkness of the memories of his time as captive and what he had done in the battle faded under their combined warmth like snow under warm rainfall.

Theon waited on the sidelines, looking uncomfortable both at the family reunion, and the fact he hadn't been with Ranma both at the start and at the finish, unable to escape as Jon had. He would have to wait to give his own apologies, and maybe, just maybe he'd promise to be nicer to Jon. He might even keep the promise, for a while at least.

OOOOOOO

Thankfully for lady Catelyn's sanity, that was the only major upheaval for a time. The next three years fell back into a busy but somewhat more normal routine. Ranma and his siblings continued to grow and learn, each of the youngsters now forming their own distinct personalities.

Sansa continued on her way to becoming the perfect noble's daughter. Her sewing and her embroidery were top notch, her manners and bearing perfect, and her face and body began to blossom into what everyone could see would be a gorgeous womanhood. Despite this, and despite the fact she looked down her nose on some of the things Ranma still did (climb trees, roughhouse with Jon, Theon, and others) Ranma still remained her 'favorite big brother'. He would take time out of his week to spend with her, either reading with her or telling Sansa a story, mostly made up at this point to make her laugh or smile.

Bran grew up enough to chase after the older boys and Jon and Ranma smoothly introduced him to their play, though he wasn't nearly interested enough in arms-training to be given their old weight set as Ranma had predicted early on. Theon sometimes resented their new follower but for the most part put up with the youngster easily. Rickon, too, was now able to at least follow the other boys around, and did so as often as he could get away from his nurse.

Just like Ranma predicted, Arya was a wild little thing. She learned hand to hand and weapons training from Ranma almost as well as Jon and made war against Septa Mordane and her mother's attempt to change her into a proper little lady. With Ranma and Jon's connivance, which didn't end no matter how many times Catelyn took them to task about it, she continued to learn what she wanted to rather than merely what she was forced to. Ned now kept clear of it, knowing his youngest daughter had him wrapped around her little finger and, unfortunately, also knowing that Catelyn had a point.

Ranma, now with Jon and, to a lesser extent, Theon continued to learn statecraft, strategy, logistics, and tactics from Lord Stark and Maester Luwin. Despite this and his ordeal under the Bolton's Ranma's personality largely remained the same; irreverent, easy-going, caring, and eager to please his parents. To this was added a new fierce protective streak and a certain amount of maturity when dealing with matters of his future lordship. Jon was a little more introspective, somewhat more brooding at times, but still a good friend and brother.

Theon had given up trying to match the other two in swordplay, although he did so with ill grace. He instead delved into another area to prove his superiority: womanizing. Once he hit puberty, not a day went by when he didn't have a tale to rub into the other boys's faces about his time with one girl or another. Yet despite this, neither of the other boys were dismayed by being shown up in this area.

Jon had no desire to leave any Snows around. While the Stark family, even Catelyn, were supportive and welcoming to him, Septa Mordane and those like her had never ceases to make certain Jon knew his place in no uncertain terms, and at one point had almost corrupted Sansa to their way of thinking before Catelyn put her foot down hard.

Theon did, however, convince Ranma to come with him. But this wasn't because Ranma wanted to use the whores, (after all, he had seen Genma use whores on their training journey and nothing good came from it) but because he wanted to learn what girls liked.

(((Flashback)))

The whore was slightly older than the normal fare, and had actually been surprised and rather amused when the Young Wolf had chosen her when he came in with the Kraken boy. Every whore knew Greyjoy by this point and knew how to handle him. The young wolf was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. He was after all very comely and every girl in Winterfell except Arya (though it included Sansa thanks to her friend Jeyne) wondered if his well-known endurance translated into other things. "So what will it be, my lord, a little bit of the mouth, the tit, or the full service? You paid for it, your choice."

Ranma smiled, more than a little embarrassed by this but his desire to find out what girls actually liked overrode that. Once more, he cursed the fact that for whatever reason, he had never really been interested in girls in that way back in his previous life, not even to the extent of looking at porn. If he had, this trip would have been unnecessary, but he would be damned if he didn't please his partner when he actually got one. "None of that, actually. I just have one request: teach me what women like, in y'know, like in bed."

The older woman stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh gently. It was a rare boy indeed who cared about his partner. She reached out to cup his chin and pull the boy's embarrassed face up to look into her own. "That will take some time my lord, but you've paid for it already. Now, to begin with, many women like a man who kisses in a certain way…."

(((End Flashback)))

Ranma spent the entire day with the woman and left a very embarrassed but much more knowledgeable young man. The whore was asked by her fellows what the young lord was like, but she would merely smile, shaking her head and leaving them to guess.

Needless to say he was ribbed about this trip constantly by Theon and Sansa though for different reasons. Sansa was appalled her favorite brother had gone to a whorehouse, but eventually decided to blame Theon's bad influence. Theon on the other hand was more amused and astonished that Ranma didn't want to go back, but when pressed about what happened would not reveal anything.

More importantly, Jon, Ranma and, to a lesser extent, Theon made friends with several of the young nobles of the North, especially the heirs that began to visit Winterfell on their parent's orders. SmallJon Umber, the Karstark boys Harrion, Eddard and Torrhen who were welcomed as family with open arms by Lord Stark and his family, even the older Robett Glover who was a man grown and married, Daryn Hornwood, Roger Ryswell and others. All of them showed up to learn what they could from the Young Wolf and the Twinblade, as Jon began to be called when he started to use two shorts swords rather than a longsword and knife. Edd, SmallJon, Daryn and Roger became friends with Jon and Ranma, appearing often to hunt, train or simply spend time with the two brothers, to the approval of all their houses.

Yet, the one heir who most often resided in Winterfell was Dacey Mormont. She appeared at Winterfell a month after Ranma was freed from his captivity and stated simply, "I'm here to see if the stories about the Young Wolf and his culling of the leeches of Dread Fort are true."

After that Dacey challenged Ranma to a fight with swords, and was soundly beaten. This didn't dismay her, instead the two were often seen together, and she too, became a friend to Ranma, Jon, and Theon. She stopped by at least once a month, sometimes more, to learn from Ranma and to see him. In fact rumors of the two being lovers began to circulate, but if that was the case neither gave any sign of it.

Catelyn had been somewhat worried about the relationship, hoping that her son had not fallen for the nearly thirty year old Dacey, who despite being an accomplished warrior was still striking to look upon. A marriage to house Mormont however was unnecessary, they were already counted among the most loyal vassals and friends of house Stark, so there was no need to bind them to house Stark through marriage. Ranma's hand, like that of Sansa and to a lesser extent Arya was a potent tool that could be used to strengthen the house.

When asked, Ranma had simply smiled, kissed his mother's cheek and said, "We're just friends, that's all, neither of us are interested in marrying." It was only later that Catelyn realized that this didn't mean the two weren't physically interested in one another, but as no evidence to back that up came to light, she let the matter drop. Theon didn't, of course, and needled both Dacey and Ranma, but the two bore it stoically, firing back as well as they took.

And so time passed, until one day when news of a deserter from the Night's Watch reached Winterfell.

End chapter

* * *

So there you have my attempt at the start of a Ranma/A Song of Ice and Fire crossover. My muse thought this story up and would not let me alone until I wrote it, and since I am in a holding pattern on my job, I figured why not let my muse loose, so here you are. If you are expecting a bleep ton of dark shit, go elsewhere. If you are looking for a cocktail (mmm…. B-52's) mix of comedy, drama, violence, warfare (three parts warfare –strategy, politics/espionage and combat), a bit of romance with more than a hint of lemons eventually, then please go to my profile and vote for this story to be continued after I am finished with Horse of the Dead. The other choices are my other newly posted story, Gods, Devils and Wild Horses, Oh My a High school DxD/Ranma crossover, or continuing my mass effect/Ranma crossover. The poll is like all my others, vote = one point for your choice, a PM that tries to convince me that this story or that one is the best one to go with other than for reasons like 'I think this is good, write it' will get that story five points. I had help for this from _Trinel, N0mster_ and several others, so that automatically gives this story 45 points. Thanks again for letting me bounce ideas off you guys and for all the facts you hooked me up with _Trinel!_

Be warned, I may make up a few names for heirs to houses like House Dustin, who don't have one designated, I'm thinking of the name Hathan- kudos do anyone who recognizes it. If I do continue it I would also be eternally grateful for a beta reader, one good at spotting small mistakes and who has a knowledge of the world of Westeros, and in particular Daenerys and her journey.

As always read and review please.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own ASoIaF, if I did some of the main characters would have stopped dying off a long time ago; nor do I own Ranma 1/2, there's too much Akane and not enough Kasumi.

I have decided to put this work only in the ASoIaF crossover because I will be following that version more closely and because I will be using many characters that haven't/won't appear in the TV version.

Regardless, the fact this chapter is here should tell you that it won the poll. I was amused however by the fact so few people actually PM'd me to back up any of the stories. Ah well, if you're interested check out the poll, as the PM's didn't really change any of the choices positions in relation to one another. This story won by a freaking landslide.

Normally I would respond to reviews here, but I have gotten into the habit with Third Path story of responding to them via PM, so I will start doing that for this story in the future. I will put responses to reviews from guests and people who have their PM service shut down at the end of the chapter.

Thank you everyone who pointed out the numbers screw up in the last chapter. I have gone back and corrected it, and I would urge you all to go back and reread it anyway. I have a new beta named Jessolt, and he is the man. Seriously, the chapter reads so much better its not even funny. I'm giving him a shout out for his work on this chapter too.

BE WARNED! I look upon canon as a mere guideline, something that should be touched upon a few times, but other than that… Now, on with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 2 Times They Are a Changin****'**** (ready or not)**

"I despise you right now. I want you to know this. It is important to me that you, Ranma Stark, understand how much I loathe you at the moment."

Theon Greyjoy had grown up into a somewhat tall, good looking, rakish young man with dark black hair and equally black eyes. He bore a longbow behind him on his horse as well as a longsword at his hip, chain mail and leggings along with a cloak made of deer hide. At the moment however his good looks were ruined by the scowl on his face and the fact that said face was also a little frostbitten.

Jon too was feeling the pinch of the weather. Despite the fact that he rode out regularly with Ranma on hunting expeditions, to visit their friends in other parts of the North, and on tasks for their father, they had** never **been this far north. The farthest north they had ever gone was the Last Hearth which was the seat of House Umber, firm ally and now close friend to house Stark in the person of the house's heir, who right now was riding behind Jon and Theon. Now however, they were well past that and about a third of the way into the Gift, the land south of the wall that had been given over in perpetuity to sustain the Night Watch.

It was the fact that he couldn't feel his face anymore or the fingers of the hand that was resting lightly on one of his short swords' pommels that made Jon speak up in agreement with Theon. "For once we agree, Greyjoy. If my face doesn't recover from this Ranma, I'm going to blame you."

A great booming voice laughed behind them and both the ward and the bastard son of house Stark turned to glare at Smalljon, who was smirking at them. "And you call yourselves Northerners, it's balmy out!"

Smalljon Umber was the son and heir of House Umber's current lord, though he was small in comparison to only a very few people in Westeros. Standing at six feet five inches with wide shoulders and a heavy brown beard, the man looked as if someone had decided to mate with a bear. Ironic, considering that Dacey Mormont rode beside him yet would not touch his hirsute body for gods or gold. "If you can't handle this, wait until you get north of the Wall!"

"Ha, as if you've ever been north of the Wall!" Theon barked back. "I'm not like you, you great fucking bear, protected by your fat and that beard or yours!"

"The weather is nothing in comparison to what our father will do if we do try to get north of the Wall, which, I may remind you, is not something we plan to do on this trip." Jon muttered as another blast of cold air came through the trees at them. This area of the North looked almost completely untouched, giving the impression that it had never felt the hand of man until you noticed that there was a single road leading through it. This was the Kingsroad, but here it was a mere dirt path leading from the western lands of house Umber and the headwaters of the Last River.

His words went unheard however, as Smalljon fired back. "At least I'm not complaining about the cold like a southerner who's seen less snowfall than tits!"

"That is pure envy speaking there," Theon crowed. "You wish you've seen as many tits as I have!"

"Point to Theon," Ranma said from the front, where he had been ignoring the not so witty repartee behind him. Jon turned to stare at his brother, who seemed to feel his eyes and turned in the saddle to smirk at him.

To an outside observer, Jon and Ranma looked very much the same, at least from a distance. Both of them were tall, slightly over six feet with lean bodies, but wide shoulders, though it was obvious that they still had some growing there to do. It was said that they both took after their fathers in looks, dark hair, long, lean faces, and dark gray eyes, in Jon's case. When someone got closer, however, they would begin to notice differences.

Ranma's eyes were not gray but blue, a deep ocean blue, deeper, darker than the normal Tully eyes and in contrast to the rest of his features, which were pure Stark. Both their hair was long, but where Jon let his hair flow free down to his shoulders like their father, Ranma had his tied in a ponytail like the Dothraki barbarians who ruled the interior of Essos were supposed to favor. Both of them had beards at present, but whereas Jon was growing quite fond of his and was thinking of keeping it in a goatee, Ranma had quickly decided that the moment he could, he was going to lose his. He didn't like having facial hair, complaining that it itched all the time. This had caused several rude comments from his male friends, to which he replied in a mature manner by threatening to thrash the lot of them (not an idle threat).

He was still boyish in many ways, shown by the smirk on his face as he looked at his brother and friends. Yet despite this, Ranma had a gravity and power to him when he wished and could exude a sternness that was all Stark, which he hadn't had when he was younger. Ranma had really come into his own as his father's heir and took his duties and responsibilities seriously. For the most part anyway, he still shied away from one specific duty that reminded him far too much of the problems he had back in his past life.

Another difference between the two brothers was what they were wearing. Jon was clad in scale mail and leathers, with a good cloak clasped on one shoulder by a white lacquered wolf's head. Ranma was clad in half plate armor. His shoulders and chest were covered with heavy armor, as were his lower legs and forearms. The rest was leather, allowing him a free range of movement to wield any weapon of his choice. For this trip he had chosen both a warhammer as well as a claymore. The warhammer was so heavy it would take a normal person both hands to wield, if they could at all, but Ranma wielded it easily with one hand and it didn't even slow him down. The claymore was a gift from House Dustin and Ranma had been obliged to take it as well, despite it being too light for his tastes. He, too, had a cloak lined with fur around the neck, which was secured on one shoulder by a small gold pin shaped like a wolf's head.

"It does my heart good to see the two of you getting along so well," he said now, blue eyes sparkling with wry humor. Those eyes were the best indication of his emotions at any moment. Ranma could control his face to a certain extent, but his eyes told that only the truth of what he was feeling. Sometimes they were light blue snapping with humor and sometimes they deepened to the darkest blue of the ocean depths with fury. Such moments were rare indeed, but they showed beyond anything else that he had the wolfs blood that house Stark was known for, despite his general outgoing nature. "If nothing else this trip has been made worth it by the fact it has given you to the opportunity to bond."

Their companions hooted and hollered at Theon and Smalljon who exchanged grimaces. They had never gotten along since being introduced, much like Jon and Theon though for different reasons. Smalljon didn't like Theon, thinking him more of a Kraken than could be trusted, while Theon thought Smalljon was an idiotic barbarian.

Theon swiftly shot back, "It'll be the only outcome, and don't get used to it Stark! This is a madcap chase and you know it."

"I knew that the moment we set out, doesn't mean it isn't worthwhile," Ranma replied, nonchalantly resting one hand on the pommel of his Claymore, staring down at the little wolf pup that was keeping up with the ride with some difficulty. That he was keeping up at all, both him and Ghost, Jon's pup, was a surprise in and of itself, for direwolves so young. Yet, the sight of Fenris running along beside his horse made him remember how they all had come to be out here.

(Flashback)

Ranma and Jon looked up from their studies when they heard a polite cough from the doorway. They had been discussing with Maester Luwin the tactics of one of the battles in the war called, rather romantically (and stupidly in Ranma's opinion), the Dance of the Dragons. Theon, too, looked up from where he had been reading a book on naval tactics, something that Master Luwin had given him since the next battle they were going to study would have a naval component to it.

In the doorway stood a servant, his face apologetic. "Young master, your father requests you to get ready to ride out with him. Patrols have found a Night Watch deserter and they are holding him in a nearby holdfast."

The three boys stood up and bowed to the maester, while Ranma made their apologies. "Sorry about this maester, but duty calls."

With that all three boys made their way out of the room and followed the servants down the corridor and out into the courtyard. There they found horses ready to go, and Ned arguing with Catelyn. "He's too young Ned! You can't let him see something like this!"

"I was younger than Bran when I first saw my father carry out a sentence."

To one side stood Arya, looking put out. Ranma shook his head at her. "Don't look like that, this isn't something you should be sad about missing, Arya."

"I'm missing it because I'm a girl," she growled angrily, sounding almost like one of their family's totems for a moment. "I'm older than Bran, why can't I go?"

"Because I said so!" Catelyn said sharply, turning from her losing argument with Ned. "This is not something that a young girl needs to see and you get out of too many lessons as it is!"

"Arya, it is not like we're just going out riding for the heck of it." Ranma said moving past her and placing a gentle hand on his mother's shoulder. She calmed down a little, hearing him agree with her, and he turned back to Arya. "There is nothing interesting about this Arya, trust me. It's simply a task we have to see to, that's all, the law of the land." Arya subsided, but still scowled irritably at not being allowed to come and Ranma sighed.

Bran was already in a saddle, looking nervous and rather torn between exhilarated and scared, possibly even a little nauseous. "Father, did commander Mormont send word about why this one deserted?" Ranma asked, smiling encouragingly at his younger brother.

His father shook his head somberly. "There will always be men who try to get out of their duty and given word, my son. Their reasons vary and rarely will they tell the truth even when caught."

Jon came back at that moment, carrying both his short swords strapped to his sides as well as a claymore for Ranma. He murmured "Were you able to talk Arya out of coming with us? You know she'll only try to follow if she's still of a mind."

"We can only hope," Ranma muttered back, and Ned carefully kept his face blank hiding his amusement. Arya was proving more of a handful with every passing year, but Ranma's initial idea of channeling her wild ways had paid off handsomely.

Because of the deal they had struck, Arya kept at her studies of needlework and other feminine skills in return for training with Ranma in the afternoon. She was still nowhere near as good at the womanly activities as Sansa was, yet that wasn't who she was either. Arya was good enough to get by, and the relationship between the two sisters, while not friendly was, at least, not combative (or not overly so).

On the other hand, she had taken to Ranma's training like a duck to water Ned felt at this point that she could even take on one or two of the other younger bucks in the guard (outside of his heir's companions or those who practiced with them often, of course) and possibly beat them. But that had done nothing to change the fact that she was a willful, wild little girl, who constantly tested her parents, trying to get away with anything she could. It was trying even for Ranma, especially when she tried to get out of her end of the agreement they had made so many years ago.

Ned shook that thought off however, simply nodding at the two boys, along with Theon who had already moved to his horse, strapping his bow behind his saddle. "Let's be about it," Ned said and turned his horse to face the portcullis of the King's Gate.

The road went through the small town that had been built to house the smallfolk during times of winter and strife around Winterfell, which in these long years of summer was home to a permanent village, and then out into the lands beyond. It took them several hours ride to reach the holdfast where Ned's patrol was keeping the deserter. They had him tied to the ground, three of them standing over him silently. Their lord had given stern commands to any group that found a deserter from the Wall (there had been several over the last few years). There was to be no taunting or any other kind of humor at their expense. The lives of the Night Watch were harsh and people sometimes simply could not stand up to it. While breaking their given word meant that their life was forfeit, that didn't mean you had to make japes about it.

Ned and the others got down from their horses, with Ranma helping his younger brother down. Ned grimly walked up to the man as his guards forced him to kneel on the ground. "Your name?"

The man on the ground was a swarthy sort, still somewhat tanned despite possibly years serving the Night Watch, and when he spoke his accent told Ned man was Dornish. Yet, there was also a broken air about him, and his face and fingers were suffering from frostbite. "A-Andrew Romario, my Lord, I come from Dorne originally. Er, I was an inn keeper before I had the lapse in judgment that landed me in trouble with the law."

Ned nodded, one-handed bringing Ice around from where it had hung on his back. "As a man of the Night Watch, you know the penalty for running from your house, for breaking your word. You have any last words before sentence is carried out?"

The man shivered a little looking up at them all with wild eyes. His eyes lit on Bran for some reason and he twitched a little. "You Northerners," he murmured, "a cold harsh people to make such a young lad face this."

He broke out of that odd little moment to stare up at Ned and at the others. "I, I know you won't believe me Lord, but I saw them, t'was only fleeing that let me live. I saw them, the White Walkers." Ranma's eyes widened and then narrowed in contemplation as the man began to giggle maniacally. "Legends, living legends and nightmares!" he shouted, shaking his head. "Legends, alive and killing, killing my patrol entire. Rangers with three or more years of service with the Night Watch and only I survived. To run and hide and run again, always running!" He raised his hands beseechingly. "I know what I saw, my lord, crazy you may call me, coward I am, but I know I saw them."

Ned nodded slightly, and raised his sword about to pass sentence when Ranma said, "Wait, father." Ned turned incredulously to his oldest son, but Ranma swiftly went to his knees in front of the man. "These White Walkers, what do they look like?"

The man stared at him, surprised, then answered hesitantly. "They, they look almost like a man, but they are slightly taller and thin, too thin, almost skeletal. But they have inhuman strength despite that. Their faces are like ours only pointed, far more angular, as if they were crossed with a fox and their eyes, they glow. They glow blue, so cold it eats at a man's mind. And they bring the cold with them, so cold…"

Ranma nodded thoughtfully and stood back. His eyes were far away and Ned watched him for a moment wondering what his son was thinking but then Ranma came back to earth, looking down at the deserter. "I can't forgive you for breaking your chosen word, for that you know the sentence. But know that I'll try to get to the bottom of what you saw, and, if you told the truth, I will have your name remembered as one of great renown."

The man looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears and he nodded. Ned took this as his cue and stepped forward, raising his sword. "Andrew Romario, you are accused of deserting your brothers and your place on the Wall, proven by your own words. The penalty is death and is to be carried out immediately."

Bran shuddered and looked away as the headless corpse collapsed to the side, the stump where its head had been spurting blood for a moment. "Don't look away," Jon said sternly, pulling his head around again. "This is the duty of a Steward of the North, the power of life and death. The man who passes the sentence swings the sword. If you take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words." Jon actually was paraphrasing what Ned had told the trio of older boys the first time he had them watch him dispense justice years ago, and it had been easier for him, since he had already been through a battle by that point.

Theon sneered a little and was about to say that it wasn't a duty a bastard would have anything to do with, but a single searing glance from Ranma made him choke on the words. Bran didn't notice, simply staring at the body of this stranger who had been alive moments ago, and now wasn't due to his own father's blade. He gulped convulsively, but did not look away again.

Ned shook his head softly and moved over to get a cloth from Ser Jory, slowly cleaning his blade, then turning to look at his oldest son. "You know he was just raving, correct? There hasn't been a sighting of a White Walker in over 400 years."

"That doesn't mean they aren't coming back." Ranma said quietly, tapping his forehead for a moment, covering the act by pushing some of his hair back up out of his eye.

Ned's eyes widened as he realized what Ranma was implying. _Could this be why Ranma was given the gift of the memories of his past life?_ Ned shook his head, however. That's not enough, if you're asking me to do something like rouse the North or send troops north to the Wall, we will need much more than this."

"That's why I think I should go. I'll go up to Commander Mormont personally." He hurried on as his father's expression grew stonier. "You know there must be something odd going on, father. This is the fourth deserter from the wall in the past year alone! There hadn't been five in the previous ten years combined, was there?"

"No, there wasn't," Ned muttered, shaking his head, not having put that together before for some reason. He stood there thinking hard for a moment, taking in his son's stubborn face and that niggling little feeling at the back of his mind that said that this was at least in part why Ranma had been allowed to keep his knowledge, had been gifted with his physical skills. "I will agree to that, I suppose, but you will tell your mother you're going and you will take as many of your friends as are free." Ned refused to use the name given to Ranma's companions by the smallfolk, thinking it ostentatious in the extreme. Wolf-sworn indeed!

The idea of telling his mother that he was going to go out on it what amounted to possibly a personal adventure made Ranma gulp a little. She never liked watching him leave. Still, he nodded gamely and the group remounted quickly.

Bran was still having trouble with what he had seen, though Jon was helping him as best he could. Ned allowed his horse to slow until Bran's came up alongside him then began to talk to his second-born son.

About an hour later one of the scouts came riding up to them. "My Lords, we found something you might want to see."

(End flashback)

What the guards had found was a dead direwolf bitch and her litter of puppies, the bitch having been killed in a battle with a massive stag. There had been five puppies, or so they thought at first, and taking it as a sign Ranma, with Bran's help had convinced Ned to let the siblings have one each. They found another one, with fur the white of new fallen snow along the way back, which Jon had claimed. Reactions had been mixed, but all the children had fallen in love with their new companions swiftly.

That was why Ranma had decided to head further north and how he'd gained Fenris as a companion, as well as the others. He thought Sansa and her choice the name Lady for her direwolf was rather silly, though not as silly as Rickon's naming his Shaggydog. Nymeria and Ghost were much more fitting, though Bran had not decided on a name for his yet.

It had been three weeks since then, and Ranma had learned quickly that there was a far deeper connection between him and Fenris then the bond of master and pet. The direwolf was very intelligent with much more stamina and strength than a puppy his age should have. So did Jon's Ghost and they both seemed to have taken on some aspects of their Masters personalities. There were times… Ranma shook that thought off, it wasn't possible was it?

The banter behind him continued, the rest of Ranma's companions joining in and he smiled. Ranma had more friends in this dimension than he had ever had in his old one and not a single one of them had tried seriously to kill him (outside of spars anyway). Dacey, riding next to Smalljon, saw that small smile of her lord and smiled to herself looking around at their companions.

Her mother was always irritated with the fact that Dacey spent so much time at Winterfell or traveling between it and the Bear Island, and at first Maeve Mormont thought that Ranma and Dacey might be getting married at some point, but neither were under any illusions about the relationship. For Dacey, it was almost a purely physical thing. Ranma's physical abilities, the aura of command that Ranma allowed out sometimes, attracted her on some animal level. Ranma liked her as a friend, and had no issue with meeting her physical demands. To Dacey, it was simply a physical thing; to Ranma it was both a physical thing and a learning experience.

_Not, _she thought now, remembering their last encounter before they had left Winterfell, _that he has much in the way of learning to do there any longe_r. She'd had a few lovers before him, but none of them had Ranma's **flair** for it. It was as if he was able to take his ability to learn the skills necessary for combat and apply them to anything physical, reading how Dacey's body reacted to learn what made her respond. Dacey had been the master the first time and him the apprentice, filled with knowledge but not much real life experience, now the relationship was decidedly reversed, and she loved it.

Neither of them were looking for a serious romance at this time and Ranma knew that when he married would have to be a political marriage. He hated that, and made no bones about it, but still hadn't wouldn't truly fight against it. Still, Dacey was always amused when the Lords of the North would stop by bringing their daughters with them in an effort for one of them to catch Ranma's eye.

Almost all of them were simpering silly little girls, sort of like Sansa with the same romantic notions, and utterly in awe of Ranma and his reputation, which had spread over the North despite the fact that no one who hadn't been there (outside of Dacey and his other friends) believed what had really happened at the Dread Fort. It had even spread south, and as far as the cities of Essos though no one knew it, but as a bard's tale not something seen as truth by most.

She chuckled now, remembering the last time the Karstark girl had come by with her father and brothers. All of them were welcomed warmly, but there was no hint of her romantic relationship between Alys and Ranma, who had instead taken her and Sansa on a trip to White Harbor for Sansa's name-day present. Despite her father's best efforts, the two of them saw one another as family, and the young girl, she was only a half year older than Sansa, enjoyed having another brother especially one who was much funnier and more willing to spend time with her than any of her own.

_They__'__d do better to learn how to fight and stand up for themselves rather than all that womanly duties crap,_ she thought, shaking her head and trying to free it of the thought, but it wouldn't free itself that easily. A few of them were being trained in estate management, but very few and not a one of them had caught Ranma's eye. She knew the Lady Catelyn was growing concerned about it and she had taken to glaring at Dacey whenever she was around, but it wasn't her fault that none of them were Ranma's type. Ranma knew he was perfectly free to look around. There could be nothing permanent between the two of them and he knew that before they even got together for the first time.

She looked over when Edd said "What are you smiling at Dacey? There's no way this lot can amuse you any longer, their normal jests have gotten so old on this trip I'm almost inclined to try and get Hathan to join in just to break the monotony."

She laughed a little reaching out to slap Edd on the shoulder. Edd and the other companions chosen for this trip had gone through Ranma's training, though nowhere near to the extent that Jon had. Most of them had caught up with her and Theon, however. Edd, for example, was the youngest of them, a full year younger than the three Winterfell boys and wasn't even at the point of shaving regularly, but he was devilishly quick. A spear rode in his stirrups, which he could use as a lance or as a pole arm, and he wielded it with a style that Ranma had begun to teach him almost from the moment they met. Dacey had heard it described as somewhat similar to the Red Viper of Dorne by Ser Rodrick Cassel, who had seen Prince Oberyn fight at a tournament down south.

"Just remembering the last time your father brought Alys along to Winterfell. He's really trying to push that marriage, isn't he?" Dacey replied.

Edd chuckled, then laughed aloud. "Yes, he most certainly is. He's wanted a closer relationship with house Stark since I can remember, though I think he's chasing down the wrong trail there. Ranma is no more interested in wedding and bedding my sister then he is in bedding one of his own."

Dacey cocked her head for a second, her eyes narrowed speculatively. There had been something about the way he had said 'chasing down the wrong trail' there… She shook it off however, and nodded. "Exactly, I don't know what sort of woman Ranma is interested in, but simpering romantic little girls who have had their head filled with romantic and knightly drivel certainly isn't it."

Daryn Hornwood and Roger Ryswell were riding behind them, and both of them broke out into laughter. "True," Roger said between chuckles. His house had been one of the noble houses that had had ties to the Bolton clan due to the marriage of his older sister Bethany to Lord Bolton, and his family had initially been angry that the house had been wiped out and the Dread Fort razed. That was before they learned why it happened and before Domeric passed on the idea that Bethany had possibly been killed by poison, although no one could prove it so long after the fact.

Both young man were tall, fair to look upon, and wore chain mail. Daryn was a brown haired young man who wore it cut short. Roger wore his own blonde hair down to his shoulders, though his beard was nowhere near as luxurious as his friend's, which was close to rivaling his father's. Roger wielded a single bladed axe and the lance with equal proficiency, both of which he had strapped to his saddle beside him, while Daryn had a long sword and shield, much like Dacey, though her own weapon was closer to a bastard sword than a longsword. This was only natural as she was quite a bit stronger than Daryn, although he was quicker than she was.

Roger went on, "My father's been most amused by it and relieved that Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn have made no efforts to encourage the match. It's well-known that Karstark has ancient family ties to House Stark, and the friendship you have with Jon and Ranma is well known Edd. But House Stark can't favor one family of the North like that over another."

"All the same," Daryn said worriedly, pitching his voice lower now, "Ranma's sixteen, it's about time he started to look for a wife." He was an older man, full twenty and two, and he took a more stoic and somber look of at the word then Roger, who was only two years older than the Winterfell trio. "At least a betrothal should be coming soon, don't you think?"

The last member of their party, which was the majority of the group the smallfolk had taken to calling the wolf-sworn, was named Hathan Snow. He was the next oldest of them after Daryn at age twenty and he had a distinct look of the Manderly family, though he was much thinner than any of that family and none had claimed to be his father, although he was raised with the main Manderly family . He already sported a large handlebar mustache. He was but of medium height, making him one of the shorter members of the party, but had truly massive shoulders and he wore full heavy plate. He was also deadly with the lance that was even now riding upright beside him and had cut his teeth on tournaments in the South since he was ten and two, coming home only last year.

There were rumors going about that the knight he had gone south with as his squire had been killed in a tournament 'accident' after facing the Mountain that Rides in the Crown Lands. The storytellers claimed that he fell off his horse badly cracking his skull open on the ground, but the grim look in Hathan's face whenever anyone mentioned tournaments seemed to signify something else had occurred there.

He didn't speak up often, yet Hathan had the political acumen that the Manderly family was well known for. He spoke up now, his voice a soft, almost musical tenor. "I think the Lady Catelyn would prefer that Ranma look south for his future bride. Tell it true lords and lady, does House Stark really need a marriage in the North to solidify its position at this point?"

They all burst out laughing at that. House Stark and its position in the North had rarely been stronger than it was today. There was the friendship between the heirs to consider, as well as the fact that Ned was well thought of as an honorable and trustworthy man, building on the reputation of his house easily. And then there was the way that they had dealt with House Bolton.

While House Stark hadn't gained anything in the way of coins or land from doing so, all of Bolton's former neighbors had been enriched by it and with those riches, came the message. 'Cross me,' that message said, 'and I will end your house'. One or two of the houses minor might have been angered by that message, especially the ones that looked to house Bolton, but the houses major and the noble houses themselves were simply approving of it. A strong and honorable steward, who could also be ruthless when the situation called for it, was precisely what they wanted to see.

"How far south do you think?" Daryn asked. He and Hathan were really the only ones who had much interest in politics, but the others were slowly realizing that they needed to learn this game as well, something that their parents were encouraging each in their own fashion.

"Lady Catelyn is a Tully," Hathan said earnestly. "A marriage between House Stark and one of the other houses in the Riverlands would probably be a good idea tying the regions together even more. Though I'm uncertain which of Riverlands house would be strong enough to interest her for Ranma, or even have daughters of a marriageable age."

"Just hope it isn't the Frey's." Roger muttered shaking his head.

One or two of the others actually shuddered a bit at that. House Frey were the rulers of the Castle/Bridge known as the Twins, the biggest and best, indeed in many ways the only crossing over the river Green Fork. It was an important position in many ways, since the castle was in an excellent position over a trade route, and a bastion between the North and the Riverlands along the only quick route South for trade or any force of a significant size. The Freys however were not well thought of by any of their neighbors or indeed practically anyone else. 'We take our tolls' was the house motto, and they certainly did that, extorting as much as they could from anyone who tried to cross their bridge.

Walder, the head of house Frey, was ambitious. He was always looking to marry off his large brood of children (both legitimate and not), who he had gotten on numerous wives, to better his position. But that and the exorbitant tolls he forced on most travelers were only two reasons why the men of the North had nothing but contempt for him and his entire house. While the rest of the Riverlands had risen to follow Lord Stark and Lord Baratheon in the rebellion against the Targaryen dynasty, House Frey had sat it out until it became clear which side was winning and then sent forth its own men to claim their share of the spoils. Nor had they supplied any men to either the defense of the Riverlands' ports or the forces attacking the Iron Islands during the Greyjoy rebellion.

Only Daryn and Dacey (who at twenty and eight was actually the oldest) was old enough to remember anything from that war outside of the history books, but that kind of opportunism and cowardice did not sit well with any of them.

"Have no fear," Ranma said quietly from the head of the column. "I have no intention of marrying a Frey, come what may. They are far too ambitious and not nearly honorable enough to interest me, and I would wish to marry a woman with a spine, one who can stand on her own two feet. Of course, what she brings to the marriage in terms of family and influence." He shrugged, "Such is life. Now hush, I think I can hear our scouts returning." Actually Ranma wasn't at all certain it had been his own ears that picked up the sounds of the scouts, but he shoved that thought aside, yet again.

The scouts had been one of Lady Catelyn's additions to the group. She had insisted that Ranma at least be able to send out scouts around his party, to make certain that they weren't being ambushed or walking into anything. North of the Last Hearth the land was harsh, and House Umber and the nearby mountain clans had often felt the sting of wildling raids.

She had in point of fact argued strenuously against Ranma going at all and had then almost demanded he take a large force of guards, but Ranma had countered that he wouldn't need protecting that much, that his friends would be with him, and they could move much faster than a larger force. Catelyn had at last capitulated, but only with the demand that he send a message back by raven whenever he could, as well as dozens of other motherly conditions. Ranma hadn't minded, still loving the fact he had a mother who cared for him now and simply hugged her and kissed her on the cheek for worrying about him. Indeed, he had sent back regular reports to her until they entered the Gift, which was even more sparsely populated than the rest of the North, apparently.

Ranma and his band had met up with the trackers on the border between mountain clan and Umber land, before they entered the Gift. They were both superstitious and did not like the fact that Ranma fully expected them to run into trouble at some point. When they had heard about the reason for the trip, both of them had looked very concerned, muttering about ancient tales and the forces of the far cold. Whatever that meant, Ranma didn't quite know. He had talked to Maester Luwin about the White Walkers, but all he could tell him up about them were tales and hearsay and had refused to believe there could be any facts behind those rumors. Regardless, the two mountain clansmen believed in the White Walkers far more easily than any of Ranma's friends, who felt this was simply an excellent excuse to go and see the Wall.

According to Luwin, however, there hadn't been a single proven sighting of a White Walker since the coming of the dragons and the Targaryen dynasty. _But the dragons aren't here any longer, _Ranma thought to himself grimly, waiting as the two scouts made their way back to them through the heavy, rocky scrubland and woods that made up this portion of The Gift.

One of them pulled up in front of Ranma's horse (which he only rode because he hated having to look up to his friends when he talked to them) pointing back the way they came. "Stark, there's a group of wildlings coming this way, about two hands worth." The mountain man didn't actually know his numbers, but he knew to count by his fingers.

"Could you tell what they were? A raiding party, scouts themselves, or something else?" Ranma asked sharply.

"They're armed, Stark," man said shaking his head, "that's about all we could tell. There may be some among them that're female, but amongst wildlings the women all carry weapons, too."

"About two hands worth." Ranma said thoughtfully looking around. All of his fellows were looking anticipatory, checking their weapons. "I want prisoners," he said calmly, "try to remember that, please. At least four, I think. Are they actually coming down the road or moving through the woods?"

"No, they're making straight south, as fast as they can go." The Norrey man frowned thoughtfully scratching at his facial tattoos. "If I didn't know better I'd say they were being chased, or at least runin' from something that scared them something fierce. They ain't being nearly as careful as normal, and they ain't stayin' fully on the road. They're headin' straight south… tis odd to be sure."

"Definitely want prisoners." Ranma said nodding his head. "Make that an order, gentlemen. If they're not coming down the trail, do you think they'll jump us or simply move on past?"

"Wildlings don't grow beyond puberty if they're stupid, Stark pup," the other scout, an older man with a long grey beard, scoffed. "If I was them, I'd steer well clear this lot. You're armed, there's nine o' you, and even if they took you by surprise they'd take their lumps doing it. And you ain't carrying anythin' that they'd be interested in."

"A good point." Hathan said thoughtfully. "So we'll just have to ambush them instead."

The younger scout smirked, tapping his long dagger where it was thrust through his belt. "There's a place about two miles back, Lord, heavy rocks and even more trees than here, including one large rock about on their path. One of us can be up in the trees, and we can tell you when to ride out."

Ranma nodded approvingly. "Let's do it."

With that, the group turned their horses and trotted back the way they came, anticipation rising in the air. Fenris and Ghost seemed to feel it and were jumping around anxiously, but a stern look from their chosen masters stilled both of them. Ranma motioned for Theon. "When we get it stuck in, I want you to shoot down anyone that tries to run. If our scouts are wrong and this group is scouting for some larger force behind them, I don't want any information to get back to them."

"Right," Theon answered, smacking his bow lightly. "I'll head up into the trees with the scout who's going to signal the attack. I can shoot from up in the trees just as well as I can off horseback and my range will be better."

"Good man." Ranma smacked him on the shoulder causing Theon's smile to widen into a grin. Ranma turned to Dacey and Jon and said softly, "You two will be in charge of gathering a prisoner each for us. While I trust the others to try and follow my orders, they are kind of excitable. I can trust you two to keep your cool, can't I?"

"Yes." Dacey nodded seriously. She was the most blooded warrior among them and knew all too well the value of information.

Jon simply smirked. "You have to ask?"

Ranma grinned at him and the ride continued until they reached the hiding place the scouts had found.

Once there, Jon and Ranma spent some moments trying to get their direwolves to stay put. While they were doing this, everyone save Hathan and Roger tied up their horses out of sight. The two of them were the only ones who had trained predominantly to be cavalrymen and were the only ones with lances. Ranma split them off, leaving them with the horses for now. This was going to be a quick and dirty skirmish. There would be no time for them to get up the speed that made cavalry so deadly or even space to do it here in here in the rocky scrubland, where a hoof put wrong could break a horse's leg. Neither man made much of it, being experienced enough to know that the horses needed to be watched, and that their skill set was ill suited for this.

They waited there for about forty minutes, then the scout signaled that the group work of wildlings were in view. About thirty minutes later, they were close enough and the younger Norrey scout signaled the attack.

The wildlings were a straggly bunch, clad in mismatched leathers, breeches, and straggly furs but all of them carried weapons, the sight of which made Ranma's eyes narrow in speculation. The party had gotten strung out here in the slightly denser woods, but when the wolf-sworn charged the wildlings, unlike a disciplined force, which might have felt shock, retreating or holding their ground they simply turned and bellowed their own battle cries, charging forward. If the wolf-sworn had outnumbered them, they'd probably have broken and ran, but as it was they were simply going to stay and fight.

Ranma ducked under one badly chipped and rusted sword that was trying to take his head off before that man was forced to turn aside to face off against Daryn. Ranma blocked another, slightly better, blade with his own claymore then reached out with one hand, snake quick, to grab the shaft of a spear right behind its head as another wildling tried to drive it into his side. Without even a grunt of effort, he used the spear to lift the man who had tried to kill him and, before he could let go of the spear, the wildling found himself slammed head first into a tree. There was a horrible cracking sound and he fell to the ground, neck broken along with his skull.

The wildling man whose sword was locked with Ranma's gaped at this show of strength, then when Ranma disengaged tried to lunge forward desperately. Ranma sidestepped easily, his Claymore coming back in an economical swing with the flat of the blade slamming into the man's unarmored head. He went down like a sack of wheat and Ranma moved on. By this time, however, all the other wildlings were down, dead or unconscious. The only exception to this was one who Jon had pinned to a tree, his short swords on either side of the wildling's neck like a pair of scissors ready to snip an errant lock of hair.

Ranma grimaced a bit internally as he looked at the bodies littering the woods. Despite all the 'practice' he had fighting his way out of the Dread Fort's dungeons, killing was not something he ever got used to. Nor did he ever wish to be used to it, really, but unlike in his original life Ranma would not shrink away from it either.

While the others made their way over to the still awake prisoner, Ranma looked around at the wildlings, turning one of them over to stare down at his chest and opening a few of the packs many of them were carrying. He frowned thoughtfully then nodded at Theon who had joined him from out of the woods. The two mountain clan trackers were also making their way over to the prisoner Jon had taken and the two younger men joined them quickly.

"Ha!" said with one of the scouts, as he got close. "That's a woman. At least we'll have some fun tonight."

Theon blanched and moved very quickly away from Ranma as his eyes grew dark blue. Ranma said softly, "And what do you mean by that?"

The two scouts had never been around the young Wolf before this trip. They had heard stories, but most of those stories centered around his skill in battle not his thoughts about… certain activities. So it wasn't surprising when the man answered "Why we'll be taking our pleasure with her tonight, what else! Oh, of course you'll go first but surely…"

That was far as he got before he felt a clamp lock around his throat and he was suddenly lifted off the ground a full foot into the air. His eyes widened in shock and his hands went to his throat trying to fight back but Ranma's grip on his throat was unbreakable. He held the man aloft without any apparent effort and stared at the other tracker. "There will be no further discussion about that." he said softly. "If I hear that you tried to force yourself upon our prisoner, I will kill you both myself, is that understood?"

Dacey smiled approvingly as did most of the others, save Smalljon and Theon who simply shuddered a little. Smalljon could no longer remember how it came up in conversation, but he'd whispered, probably while he was drunk if he was honest, that his father and his family still practiced the right of the first night. Ranma's reaction to that news had given Smalljon nightmares for days after. Ranma hadn't raised his voice, but when his dark blue eyes locked on you like that you knew he was very angry indeed.

Theon, too, had come under fire for his family's motto and habit of raping women they came across in their raids when he espoused the family motto once too often in Ranma's hearing. Theon had commented about it being the right of the strong or something like that. The next moment found him hanging by his ankles outside a window while Ranma calmly asked Theon if it was Ranma's right to drop him because he was strong enough to do so.

Daryn stepped forward, placing a comradely hand on Ranma's shoulders. "Let him go, Ranma, he doesn't know your ways, and to be fair, it's not as if wildlings don't steal away women. What they do with them doesn't bare thinking about."

"Just because of our enemies act like animals doesn't mean we need to stoop to their level." Ranma said dropping the young Norrey scout to the ground. "Besides, look at them," he went on, motioning with his head over at the bodies. "Only two have any kind of armor, most of them were carrying small packs full of clothing and food, nothing else, and while they were armed, does this look like something a real wildling raider would use?" He reached down and picked up a rusted sword one of the wildlings had wielded and showed the others.

Roger grunted, reaching down and grabbing up a spear, which the word makeshift could be used to describe very well. It was a simple piece of wood, sharper at one end, with none of the hardening, shaping, or the steel tip that a real spear like Edd's had. "Ranma's got a point."

Ranma moved over closer to the prisoner to stare at her. The woman's face was oddly composed, having gotten over her fear while Ranma was making his point a moment ago. "So what are you? Deserters from some wildling band or refugees of some kind?"

The woman answered in the old tongue and it took a moment for Ranma to mentally translate it into common. "We flee. I not understand word refugee, we flee."

Ranma looked at Jon, who nodded and translated Ranma's question. While Ranma could understand spoken old tongue, he couldn't speak it without a horrible accent that made him sound like a complete idiot, sort of like a male version of Shampoo's Japanese. Jon, however, was much better at languages. "Flee from what?"

"We flee from Ryder and the Others" the prisoner replied, shivering in dread. "The Others are coming South. The Great Cold is coming."

"Look at me!" Ranma ordered, turning her head so that he could lock eyes with her. "I am Ranma Stark. 'Winter is coming' is the motto of my family, but you're not scared of winter, you're scared of something else. What are these Others you mentioned?

"I cannot speak of them." She said. "They feel it when you talk of them. Monsters of glowing blue eyes and endless unlife."

"White walkers.", Ranma replied, grimly.

The woman shuddered. "Yes, but do not name them!" She looked up at the sky, where the sun was going down already. Soon it would be night. She shivered at the idea of speaking of them so close to dusk since it was at night when the Others came out. "They have powers, odd strengths, no man can stand against them, no spell or weapon works upon them. And where they go, where their will touches the land, the dead come alive. Come alive to serve them." She shuddered again and would not speak further.

Jon translated for the others, who hadn't been trained in the old tongue as well as he or Ranma had.

Smalljon scoffed as did Hathan. "Please, the White Walkers are a myth. I'll admit that you were quick enough to grab onto an idea for a bit of a lark up to the Wall, Ranma, but surely you didn't really think…"

Smalljon trailed off staring at Ranma's serious expression. "You were serious?"

Ranma nodded grimly. He had never shared with anyone but Jon and his father how he had the memories of another life inside, but the description he had heard from the deserter, the glowing blue eyes, matched what the old gods had shown him that one time in the godswood of Winterfell, or at least a part of what they had shown him.

"If that is so we should turn back." Hathan said. "We have prisoners now, they can give us an idea of what's going on beyond the Wall. Ignoring this mumbo-jumbo about White Walkers, if something is going on to stir up the wildlings, then you need to inform your father and the other Lords of the North."

"Bah!" said Smalljon. "It's some kind of wildlings trick, trying to use superstition against us, to make us wary of facing them." Roger and Daryn both nodded agreement.

"I think," Jon said, thoughtfully staring at the prisoner who he was still pinning to the tree with his swords around her neck, "that we've taken several prisoners here. We should take this one back South with us, but I think we should keep going with the others and drop them off at the Wall with Uncle Benjen and Lord Commander Mormont. "There are some wildling groups that the Night Watch work with at times. He may be able to convince them to tell him more one way or another."

Roger frowned. "I think we should turn back. We've got valuable sources of information here, watching them on the road would be difficult, and if a few of them escape…" he shrugged.

"We keep going." Ranma said shortly, reaching down to pick up Fenris, who had left the horses behind to find his chosen human, scratching the pup behind his ears. "We keep going, and we force this lot to tell all they know about the White Walkers and what's going on north of the Wall to the Night Watch. I'm getting the impression that there's more going on here than just the Others. She said something about fleeing from someone else, which might mean that there's more trouble stirring than the Others, if they weren't bad enough."

"A new King Beyond the Wall, you think?", asked Edd, remembering his history lessons.

"Maybe, and if so the Night Watch will have to be reinforced. The Wall is a fantastic defensive position but you all know how weak the Night Watch has become the past few years and how many of their fortresses have been left to fall apart in recent years."

Theon shrugged. "That process started before even Robert's rebellion, it's just getting as low as it can go now. Though I agree with that, if something's going on beyond the Wall, the Night Watch needs to be warned."

Ranma nodded and gestured around at two unconscious wildlings, which Dacey was standing over. One was her own prisoner, the other had been smacked aside by Daryn and she had jumped in before the Hornwood heir could finish the wildling off. "Tie them up, we'll put them on the spare pack horses, and I'll carry some of our gear."

"And I." Jon said. "I might not have your endurance Ranma, but we can at least give the horses a bit of a break."

Ranma nodded, and the others, all of whom knew the two Starks (for Jon was a Stark, whatever his mother's lineage or the dubious validity of his birth) brothers had much more endurance and strength than any of them, even Smalljon, went about their business.

Within twenty minutes, the group was on their way again. They stopped to rest for the evening several hours later, well away from the scene of the battle.

The next day, they were up early. The woman they had captured, whose name was Osha, had proven to be the most levelheaded of the prisoners. The others had all tried to escape at one point or another during the night and refused to say anything to the wolf-sworn but curses. Osha tried to reason with them, but they simply spat at her and called her a traitor but something about Ranma had given her courage, despite the fact that they were taking her North again.

All the others had also realized that, and it was a constant trial watching them for the next three weeks while the group continued to traverse the Gift. Having to watch the prisoners slowed the band down, but they still made good time, yet for all of that, their unease grew.

For one thing, while the Gift was supposed to be somewhat sparsely populated with smallfolk, who were dedicated to providing for the Night Watch and the Wall, they had seen no sign of anyone. That population should have been built up around the Kingsroad, yet they had not come upon a single person yet. Even the massive, well defended inns that were maintained along the Kingsroad in the North were empty here for some reason, their owners apparently having fled.

Three weeks after the ambush they passed another abandoned inn. Ranma frowned faintly and held up a hand for them to halt. The Norrey scouts came out of the surrounding forest, looking at him quizzically and he shook his head. "Stay with us for a moment. Hathan? Can you get out our map?"

Hathan was staring off into the distance, fingering his lance shaft uncomfortably. And it took Ranma several moments to get his attention. "Hathan!"

The Manderly man shook his head shaking himself out of whatever stupor he had fallen into. "Sorry, what?"

"What's wrong?" Ranma asked moving back to join him while the others looked on in concern. Hathan was not normally given to introspection or spacing out like that and they all wondered what was going on.

"I don't know, milord," Hathan said shivering a little. "There's something wrong. By the Seven, I can't give you any more clear a description than that but there is something wrong. That's all I can say."

The wildling woman cackled. She had picked up the common tongue easily over the past three weeks and was able to follow what the lance bearer had said. "The Seven." she scoffed. "You left the lands of the Seven behind when you entered the Gift, man of the white city. They're barely a whisper here. It is the old gods who hold sway here. The farther north you get, the more true that is."

For some reason Hathan shivered, he actually believed her. After a moment however he regained control of himself. Resolutely, he removed the map, putting the uneasy feeling to the back of mind.

Ranma looked down at the map, frowning faintly. "We've seen a few abandoned farmsteads and inns but we haven't come upon any town yet. According to this map, there should be a town four hours ride or so ahead of us. We'll see if we can stay there for the night and maybe get some answers about why the Gift is so empty."

The others all nodded, looking forward to getting a roof under their head and some place to stick their prisoners so that they wouldn't have to be on guard all the time. The last three weeks had been the most trying most of them could remember.

It actually took them five hour of travel. When they arrived at the village, Ranma and the others looked around in dismay. The whole place looked abandoned and somewhat in disrepair. It was as if the people here had just up and left. Ranma frowned. "Have any of you been this far north before?"

His friends all shook their heads, but Osha nodded when Jon translated the question. "We came through here scavenging for food. No one was here."

Jon frowned, looking around. "This place looks like it was only abandoned recently, like in the last month or so. I mean look," he said gesturing to a one story house that had its roof caved in slightly right above the open doorway, "if that had happened more than a month ago the snow would've built up inside it. It hasn't yet, that means this is relatively recent."

"So what happened to the smallfolk here?" Edd asked a little worried.

"I don't know," Ranma said, looking around him. "But I'm beginning to get a bit of a puckering factor."

"Yeah," Theon laughed nervously, "like we're in for a fucking and not the good kind."

The others all laughed, their laughter ranging from true humor to that used to cover concern, but the group headed deeper into the village. They found a building that was relatively intact and decided to commandeer it for the evening. They took another house that had part of its roof torn off to paddock their horses there rather than in the small corral that was outside the large inn they had commandeered, which had been an inn at one point.

The prisoners were all placed at the back of the house away from the entrance and their ropes tied together against a large supports beam. Osha, however, was allowed to move about freely but she was ordered to remain near the center of the large room that made up the first floor of the house. Yet, the closer night came, the colder it got, and the more worried and antsy most of the wolf-sworn became.

Ranma looked over at the prisoners, noticing how they were shivering in fear now that night had fallen. That wasn't anything new, but it seemed to get worse every night and tonight was the worst. They had even stopped trying to run away during the night (they still tried during the day of course) and were now muttering to one another in the old tongue. He wasn't as good with languages as his brother was, but Ranma could tell fear when he heard it. He turned to Dacey. "I want a fire right in the middle of the room, make sure that it stays lit all night," he ordered. "Get some branches and what not too, we might need torches."

"Both here and with the horses?" Dacey asked.

Ranma looked over at Osha. "These Others you're afraid of, would they go after the horses as well or just us if they came here?"

When Jon translated the question, the wildling woman looked frightened, staring out into the darkness and backing away from the doorway. "Us," she answered, shuddering. "They have no interest in horses. They had no need of them."

"You can't seriously be thinking that she's telling the truth, can you?" Smalljon asked. "I tell you, it's just a trick."

"Look me in the eye and say you don't fill something in the air." Ranma said, looking at him sharply. "I'm not saying it's the Others like she thinks, but there's **something** in the air tonight. You know me," Ranma said, turning to stare out into the dark, "I'm as at home moving through the woods at night as I am during the day most of the time. Hell, I've snuck out of Winterfell numerous times and gone into the wild, but I've never felt threatened. Nothing like this."

Smalljon shook his head. "I don't feel anything."

"I do." said Jon quietly pulling his short swords from their scabbards, putting them on the ground within easy reach. "Four guards rotation?"

"Yes." Ranma muttered, still staring out into the darkness, his back to the fire that Dacey was tending in an effort to keep his night vision. He had first thought to maybe snuff the fire and let them all keep their night vision, but the fire could also be a weapon at need. "I'll take second watch."

More and more, he was beginning to think that this was the threat that he had been brought here to face, or at least a hint of it. There was still the human element to be considered and Ranma wasn't about to make any plans for the future on vague visions, no matter where they came from. _Still, _he thought to himself,_ if __**I**__ know I was brought here for a purpose, do some of the enemies I'm supposed to face know about me in turn?_

For the next three hours, nothing happened. Ranma, who had laid down on his bedroll but had not fallen asleep, was beginning to think he was just jumping at shadows, and the others had come to that conclusion even faster. Two hours later, Fenris began to whine and bite at his heals.

Ranma sat up to look down at Fenris, and the pup looked up, his eyes locked on Ranma's. Suddenly he could feel what his direwolf was feeling, the oppressive cold coming towards them, the feeling of death and hate, the smell of something old and dead, yet moving…

Swiftly Ranma stood up, grabbing his claymore from where it had been lying next to him and moving swiftly to join the guards at the door, who at this moment were Daryn and Roger. Dacey and Theon were also both awake, looking out the windows on either side of the door.

Almost as soon as Ranma began to move, he noticed that Jon had woken up as well, although he didn't seem to understand the feelings or where they were coming from. Jon looked around wildly, as if he had just been woken from a very deep dream, uncomprehending the sudden change.

Ranma didn't understand how he could be feeling what Fenris was feeling but he wasn't about to question it at the moment. He'd seen too much magic in his life before he came here to bother with skepticism.

Roger looked up at him sharply. Daryn did as well gripping his longsword at his side. "What is it?"

"Something's out there," Ranma muttered looking out the door. It took his eyes several minutes to adjust to the oppressive gloom outside and when they did he stared. "What the…."

Roger and Daryn looked out as well, wondering what their younger friend had seen and gaped. Coming around the corner of the village's main road toward them slowly was a veritable horde of people, but there was something odd about them. First, despite the moon not being out and the stars hidden behind clouds, none of them were carrying torches, though there did seem to be some kind of glow about them. Second, they were all moving toward them. And third was the way they moved, like someone not quite in control of their own bodies, sort of like a drunk yet not quite.

"I… Are those… they look like smallfolk, are they the villagers from this town? Where were they?" Roger asked in a whisper.

"I don't know," Ranma muttered, "but they're not moving correctly."

Daryn looked closer and saw what Ranma saw. "They're sort of dragging along aren't they? I wonder why?"

"I don't think it's for any reason we want to know," said Ranma. Almost as soon as he had said that, the smallfolk turned in their direction. Ranma and the others all gasped. The odd light wasn't coming from anything they were carrying. It was coming from their eyes, so bright a blue it hurt to look at them, deep, bright, and filled with the cold of the grave. Ranma shuddered, his hand tightening about his claymore. "Get the others up quickly!"

As everyone else was roused from sleep, Ranma raced back pulling on his plate armor, clasping his vambraces in place around his arms. That was all he had time for when the back of the house was suddenly, without any warning, smashed apart by some monstrous force from outside. All they could see, before the snow that had built up along the back of the house came in snuffing out the flames, was a giant shadow pulling back a massive club made of some kind of clear ice or something.

Ranma sprinted back towards the front of the house, shouting, "Out, everyone out! We need some room to maneuver!" He plucked up a burning twig from one of the fires, hurling it back over his shoulder. There was a roar and a sizzling hiss as it hit something, but then he was out of the door, followed quickly by the others.

There were screams inside as the prisoners were killed by whatever that thing was. Ranma realized sickly that none of them had thought to even try to release them from their chains. Then he had no more time to think because the assumed villagers were on them, reaching forward, their hands grasping with inhuman strength, their eyes blazing with cold blue light.

At the front of their force, Smalljon gasped as one of them grabbed his arm when his sword stuck in another one's ribs, wrenching Smalljon's arm almost out of its socket. Smalljon gritted his teeth at the pain finally pulling his sword free and he sliced the man's head in one great blow before backing away, wincing.

Ranma snarled, then blocked two blows from the villagers before grabbing the arm of one and pulling it in front of the other, raising his claymore and slicing one man's head off before stabbing the other in the center of his chest. That man kept pulling himself however pulling himself along Ranma's blade until Ranma kicked him hard in the chest sending it back off his sword.

"Wights!" Jon shouted, his short swords blocking blows from three of them. "They're wights! Cut their heads off! It's the only way to slow them down and even then the bodies will come back against us later! We'll have to burn them!"

Ranma remembered the simple bard's tale they had heard once out in the village of the smallfolk around Winterfell. Maester Luwin had scoffed at the very idea that there could be wights still around but did not claim that there had never been.

"Smalljon," he barked, "get out your flint and tinder, Dacey, Jon, Daryn protect him, light everything up you can, grab some kind of torch throw it up on every roof we pass." None of his friends bothered arguing and swiftly began to go about carrying out his orders. Smalljon, still cradling his wrenched shoulder, moved into the center of their makeshift formation while the others began to hack and slash at the horde all around them. The two Norrey scouts were trying to protect themselves as best they could but nowhere near as well as the others. Between one kill and the next Ranma looked at Hathan and Roger, who were fighting alongside him. "I saw something back in there." he said, jerking his head back to the house they had just vacated. "Something huge, I don't know what it is, but you and your lances might be the only things that can kill whatever it is. After Smalljon starts lighting things up, we'll make our way over to the horses. You two, get out of town, build up some momentum and come back in!"

Then five more wights were on him, wielding simple weapons but with truly monstrous strength. Strength for strength, all of his fellows would have been overwhelmed, save for Smalljon and possibly Dacey, though they weren't quite strong enough to overwhelm Ranma.

The beasts that had destroyed the back of the former inn they had been staying in, however, were different matter. As Smalljon threw his first torch up onto a wooden and straw roof, they came around the edge of the inn, two of them from either direction.

They were huge, two stories tall if they were an inch. Their skin seemed almost made of rock or ice and was gray with patterns of blue shot through it, with patches of long gray hair. Their faces were like that of a gorilla (though none of Ranma's fellows would make that connection) with long beards and they didn't seem to have any genitalia or anything else. They almost looked like someone had taken something living and then built on top of it with ice and stone. Their eyes glowed with a colder blue than even the wights and they held huge clubs made of some kind of deep blue ice.

"WH-what the hell are they!", Smalljon gasped, backing away even further into the circle of his friends, unused to looking up at anyone let alone that far up. Daryn, Roger, and the others all looked disturbed as well.

"They, they look like frost giants," Jon stammered, "but they can't be! For one thing, they're too damn big! And for another all the frost giants are dead, long dead!"

"So were the villagers." Ranma muttered angrily. "Break through and away. Keep as much distance as possible from them until we can put down all of the villagers. We can't face those things and the wights at the same time!"

The others nodded grim agreement and with Ranma in the lead, forged their way through the throng of undead villagers; bashing, slicing, and hacking them to pieces as they went, although even beheaded or without limbs, the wights kept on trying to get at them. All of them were covered with nicks and bruises in short order. Ranma's plate armor was dented a few times by strong blows that he couldn't quite deflect or dodge. One of the Norrey scouts fell, his stomach sliced open by a shovel and pulled down by the horde, his screams ringing out into the night over the clamor of battle. But they kept grimly on while Smalljon continued to throw out his incendiary torches, lighting more and more fires throughout the village.

As Ranma predicted, the giants couldn't move very quickly and while they were more than strong enough to simply smash through a house, it slowed them down even further doing so. Five minutes of desperate, close in combat later, the group arrived at the makeshift stables to find their horses still tethered there, whinnying and neighing in fear. They were all wild eyed and straining at their tethers. Ranma cursed. He had thought, just maybe, they could just all ride away or just use their higher elevations against the wights but none of them were good enough to control horses maddened by fear. Only Roger's and Hathan's horses looked even halfway calm, and even they were moving around restlessly.

"Everyone back away, let the horses through when they move!" Ranma shouted, racing forward with the two. "Roger, Hathan get moving!" Ranma barked, darting in and grabbing his warhammer from where he had left it, then swiftly helped Hathan and Roger undo the tethers, pushing them both up onto their horses.

Now freed from their tethers, the horses bolted toward the open door. Theon was nearly clipped by them as they charged out, smashing a few of the wights to the ground and allowing the humans to move away from the crowd of wights. However, looming at the back of the crowd were the Giants and Ranma knew that they would be coming towards them at any moment.

"Keep moving away from the giants!" Then Ranma charged forward, slicing into the horde with his claymore in one hand and his warhammer in the other smashing out, protecting his friends backs. His friends followed his orders, pushing away from the giants and the entrance to the makeshift corral, using the moment the horses charged to move away while Hathan and Roger raced away down the street.

The fires were everywhere now. The smoke was getting to the wolf-sworn a little but the flames seemed to be bothering the undead more. It didn't seem to do anything to them without them actually being set on fire, but they were definitely wary of it, something Ranma made a note of.

Ranma ducked under one of the Giant's fists, his Claymore slashing into the thing's knee. His sword sliced into it, but only halfway or so, and the monster's empty hand came back, clipping him upside the head, flinging him aside, and forcing Ranma to let go of his claymore. It was only because of his durability that he survived that blow and he quickly got to his feet, largely uninjured. It was as well he did, because two of the wights were on him almost immediately. He swung his warhammer around to slam into the first one's head while his other hand thundered out with a blow that picked up the other wight, tossing it up into the air and away over one of the burning houses.

The others were not doing nearly as well, but even they were stronger and faster than the wights.

Edd was using his mobility, weaving and bobbing, his spear spinning around slicing and hamstringing when he could. It appeared that the wights **could** be hamstrung, losing much of their already limited mobility, so it was surprisingly effective. Daryn was guarding his back and sides, shield and sword both moving easily to defend them, but it was obvious that both of them were under great amount of strain. The sheer number of wights around them was beginning to pin them down.

Ranma found Dacey was the closest of his allies and she was holding her own well enough. That was discounting Fenris, who was running at his heels biting trying to hamstring his opponents. The pup was still too young however, and the wights were easily able to ignore both him and Ghost. It was simply a fact they couldn't quite get at the back of most of the enemies knees. That was, of course, until a few of them were knocked down and Ghost came out of nowhere, ripping and tearing at their knees and elbows, and even some necks.

Jon was standing with Smalljon, defending him and Theon, who was sending arrow after arrow towards the giants. Already, there were dozens of shafts sticking out of two of them, mostly in the face or the neck and Ranma realized that the Iron Lander was trying to get his arrows into the giant's eyes. Jon was the one doing the best so far, his chainmail only lightly scuffed, his blades flashing out with more skill and speed than any of the others could manage.

Ranma gritted his teeth as more wights began to come at them from the direction they were heading, though, thankfully, he hadn't heard the sounds of combat from that direction, which meant Hathan and Roger had gotten away at least. He sped up, his hammer flickering out like lightning and hitting just as hard. He was everywhere at once, his hammer slamming into any of the wights that were in a position to get behind or surround any of his friends. For some reason, Fenris also sped up and his bites became much more powerful, able to rip off the wights' feet from the ankles and he was now also able to get at the back of their knees. With that, they were able to hold the line for now and continue to move away from the giants, limiting their impact on the battle for now.

However, with more wights coming out from between every house they passed it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. He blinked in astonishment as he noticed Osha wielding a hunk of burning wood beside Jon and Smalljon.

That gave him an idea, however, and Ranma jumped up from a standing start up onto a roof. Once there he grabbed up a large wooden beam from the roof, pulling it up, hefting it above his hand, and flinging it down into the largest throng of undead villagers. That gave his friends some breathing space and they raced back towards Ranma as he ripped up another one, throwing it down as well while his friends, save Jon, looked up at him in pure astonishment at his strength before turning their attention back to their battle.

Jon suddenly stopped when he noticed something in through the broken doorway of the house he had just passed. Quick as he could, Jon ducked inside, coming back out with several skins of spirits. Above them, Ranma continued to hurl his ever decreasing number of projectiles. One even nailed a giant, knocking it off its feet with a roar, but it scrambled up, seemingly uninjured.

He tossed the spirits out over the undead pinned under Ranma's projectiles while his friends moved to guard his back from the horde that had now gotten around them on all sides. He looked over at Theon who grinned and grabbed a special arrow from his quiver, reaching out and lighting it on Osha's makeshift weapon. The end of the arrow began to blaze and he quickly placed it to his bowstring and cocked it back. "Say the word!"

Ranma saw what Jon had planned and barked a laugh while he jumped from one roof to the other racing towards what was about to be a massive conflagration. "Do it!" he ordered, and Theon let fly.

Theon's aim was true and the burning arrow smacked into the skin of wine, igniting it with a roar. The conflagration ignited quickly as Jon continued to hurl the next skin out into it.

The inferno spread over the timbers that Ranma had used as projectiles and, soon enough, more than half of the horde plus one of the giants were set alight.

The undead had thus far been silent but now they began a keening wail, accompanied by the bellow of the burning giant as it actually began to toss snow onto its burning chest. Ranma's friends answered this with a roar of approval. They went to hacking and throwing the bodies of those wights that made it around the conflagration to come at them onto the flames.

This moment of good fortune ended when two of the giants burst through a house right alongside Dacey and Edd.

Edd went down, slammed away by a fist the same size as his upper body that caught him in the center of his chest, throwing him into the air and away to impact against the wall of another house where he collapsed boneless to the ground. That same giant's club smashed the one remaining scout to a bloody splatter.

Dacey was able to dodge the other giant's club, which was encumbered by the remains of the house it'd just smashed through. Her sword flicked out, catching the giant's arm right behind the elbow slicing it as deep as she could force it. Her sword stuck there and she gasped in horror as she felt herself being lifted off the ground by it and saw the other fist of the giant incoming.

Suddenly Jon was there, leaping from the remains of the wall that the giants had just burst through. He landed on the back of the other giant attacking her with both his short swords flashing, stabbing down deep as he could force them into the giant's back, which wasn't too far, unfortunately.

Ranma appeared too, blocking the blow, forcing it to the side with one arm as his warhammer came around slamming into the giant's leg with as much force as his body could muster. The leg shattered at the thigh and the behemoth could no longer support its own weight, falling to the side.

That giant slowly collapsed and Dacey, relieved, pulled her sword out of its arm. She looked up at Jon only to gasp "Look out!"

The giant that Jon had been fighting wasn't going down easily and Ranma was standing right in front of it. As its club came crashing forward, Ranma couldn't dodge it without letting the blow hit Dacey, so instead he braced his arms in front of him.

The blow landed and Ranma felt himself lifted into the air flying over Dacey's head, gasping in agony as his left arm was broken by the blow. He turned in midair, his feet hitting a wall and he launched himself forward; slamming into a group of wights nearby, fist and feet flashing, his warhammer lost when the giant's blow caught him.

Dacey was busy attacking the same giant Jon was, dodging this way and that. Smalljon and Daryn were busy with the remaining zombies, but Ranma could see two more Giants bursting out of a house right beside them. A fifth giant burst out behind Ranma and he turned his teeth bared in a snarl as he charged forward.

Ranma's working hand slammed into the giant's stomach with enough force to actually lift the monster off his feet and throw him backwards a step. He dodged the first blow, dodged the second, and almost dodged the third one, hammering blows on the giant who was grunting now at his center of mass was almost crushed by Ranma's fierce Amaguriken speed blows, but the fight turned against Ranma when something grabbed his leg, tripping him up.

He looked down and realized that a hand chopped off one of the undead villagers had reached out grabbing his foot, pulling it out from under him.

He looked up at the giant as he kicked the undead creature off him, the goliath's club already falling toward him.

Suddenly he heard a shout. "In the name of the Warrior, go back to hell!" Then Hathan was there speeding forward, his lance point slamming into the giant's upper chest with all the force of his charging steed behind it. The giant roared, not in pain but in fury, as the lance point took it in the chest and through the heart but even that wasn't have stopping it. Hathan, however, noticed this and let go of his lance quickly, bringing around his longsword to hack into the giant's neck.

By this time Ranma jumped up, turning as he heard Dacey shout his name. "Ranma!" With that shout, Dacey threw his warhammer at him.

Ranma grabbed it out of the air with his one good arm. Turning he leaped up into the air, bringing the hammer down with a roar to slam into the giant's head, crushing it utterly.

He looked up from his personal fight to see that Roger had arrived as well, spearing the giant that had been about to destroy Smalljon and Daryn through the skull. He had chosen his target better than Hathan, though he took a blow to his armored chest from the other giant's club that threw him up and out of his saddle. His horse was running away but he had saved Daryn and Smalljon who stood over him, protectively cutting down the few remaining undead villagers. They then grabbed him and moved away from the one giant remaining on its feet.

Ranma looked up at Hathan, nodded his thanks, and the two of them turned, splitting apart. Hathan moved towards the giant that Jon and Dacey were battling, trampling several wights under his horse's hooves.

Theon raced in front of giant that had fallen to its side, which Dacey was fighting, his bow raised at near point-blank range and fired up into its face, an arrow taking the giant through the eye.

At the same time, Edd came back, roaring and screaming, his helmet askew, and blood flowing from his nose, eyes, and a cut on his face, slamming his spear into the giant's chest right over the heart. His spear broke as the giant roared, flinching away but it had done its job, taking the thing in its heart. With no heart and no brain even its undead vitality failed it, and it collapsed into the snow at last.

One outstretched arm clipped Theon as the giant collapsed, but he shook it off and turned back, using the last of his arrows on the wights before pulling out his own longsword. He blocked a blow from one of them that actually had a real weapon, a massive bastard sword that it swung at his head. The blow was so powerful it knocked Theon back several steps, but he recovered and moved with Jon and Dacey protecting one another's back.

By this time, Ranma had smashed through the wights between him and his friends. He jumped up, dodging over the giant's club. His feet touched down briefly on the giant's outstretched arm and his hammer came around smashing the behemoth's head, shattering its skull.

Still the giant kept moving, reaching forward, but Smalljon raced forward, slamming his broadsword into the thing's chest with his one still working arm and all the strength of his body behind it. "Die and stay dead this time!"

With that, the battle was effectively over. The wights still up and attacking were cut down easily. The warriors went about their grim business cutting them down and tossing the parts into the growing fires that were practically everywhere now. Soon, the last went down from a blow of Ranma's hammer, the head of which was now so splattered with blood and bits of flesh that you couldn't even see the steel of it underneath.

Ranma looked around at his shell-shocked and shivering companions, feeling the adrenaline slowly leaving him a little shaky himself. He could already feel his healing ability kicking however, although it didn't seem to be doing much for his arm for some reason. He looked down at it and gasped a little as he noticed how black and blue it was, as well as the bone sticking out of his forearm. "That's going to leave a mark." He muttered, shaking his head and looking up at Hathan. "So, do you believe in the Others now?"

OOOOOOO

In the far north, far, far beyond even the most northern wildling settlements, several beings frowned in their places around a large unbroken column of ice reaching down from the ceiling of the cave they were inhabiting. It was covered with strange glyphs and had several large crystals imbedded here and there, all of them lit up with blue light.

"The trap failed." one of the beings said, his voice a lilting song on the cool breeze, yet somehow wrong as if it had the taint of death on it. "It took the bait, but shattered the thorns of our trap. The aberration still exists, and we have lost much of our resources beyond the cursed human wall. Our supply of tools there has been reduced, and our current crop of homunculus are gone."

"It was a near run thing." another said. Their faces were hidden by shadow; they distrusted one another only marginally less than they'd despised and loathed humans, though their eyes, glowing blue, could pierce the darkness easily. One hand waved at the stalagmite, which suddenly darkened. Far away the homunculus giants that they had commanded began to collapse, leaving nothing of them behind. "What concerns me is what we saw from the other humans in our tool's eyes; all of them were better fighters than normal humans should be. Still, we know its abilities, we can plan better for the next time."

"We need not do anything for a time." another one said, and the others all turned their sparkling blue eyes towards it. Only the eyes were now visible in the darkness of the cave, or at least so it would appear to human eyes. Of course a human would freeze to death in seconds here anyway.

"Use the other humans. They are skeptical, they will not believe save what they themselves see. They will not see the real danger. There is always strife among them, they will destroy one another, weaken one another so long as we play a waiting game." That voice said in response to those looks. "Merely make certain that there is no solid proof other than these humans various injuries, and few will believe them."

With a thought from one of them, the crystals buried in the frozen stalagmite lit up again and they began to send their thoughts out once more, determined to erase all evidence of the attack. Of course the humans would help them with that, fearing the pawns under their control.

OOOOOOO

By the time Dacey, Jon, Ranma, and Hathan finished throwing wight bodies and parts onto the fires. The giants had dissolved entirely, leaving nothing behind them but snow and ice. Not even their blood remained where it had splattered on rock and wood. Ranma shook his head, wondering if that was a natural thing or something magical.

He scowled, looking down at the pyre where they had also put the body of the older Norrey scout. The other one had been hacked apart and they had burned what parts they could find. Ranma was guilt-ridden at the fact he had lost two men, but at the same time, knew they had been incredibly lucky to only lose two men. He felt even more guilty at being grateful it had been the two scouts that had died.

"I lived through it," Daryn muttered, as he sat down next to Ranma grabbing some of the jerky that Ranma had pulled out of the packs for them. "And I still don't believe it. What were those things?"

Jon looked up wearily from where he had slumped next to his brother. "The large ones looked like frost giants. Like the ones from the tales from before the times of the First Men, not the giants who we know still live beyond the Wall. And the undead, they're called wights."

"GAHHHH!" Smalljon yelled, as Dacey reset his shoulder and then moved it around gingerly, wincing occasionally. "That fucking hurt! I still think this is some kind of magic trick of the wildlings, but it's also a threat, one my father and the Night Watch need to be warned about. Couldn't you have done that less painfully?"

Dacey snorted, moving away to lean against the remains of a house's wall, wincing as she did. "Hah, you're just lucky that thing didn't rip your arm off entirely. If not for Ranma's training, none of us would have lived through that. And if they are wights, going by the old stories I heard when I was young, we'll have to burn the bodies to make sure they don't come back to life again. I've never heard of any magic beyond the White Walkers that could bring the dead back to life."

"Neither have I." Ranma said, standing up join Theon at burning the pile of undead. In the distance they could see the light of day beginning to make its presence felt and he smiled before looking at his friend. "Guess now you can change your name from Greyjoy to Giantslayer, Theon." Ranma laughed, slapping the archer on his shoulder.

Theon smiled wearily but shook his head, his eyes showing how rattled he still was. "I'll think about it but this was a near run thing, Ranma, way too near for me to want to remember it later."

Ranma chuckled and moved on but there was some truth in Theon's words. If Hathan and Roger had not returned when they had the group would have been overwhelmed save perhaps for Ranma himself. And Roger had paid a price for his killing that one giant. His ribs were cracked so badly that he was having trouble breathing and he was still seeing double.

Edd was also in a bad way, he looked to at least have a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull though he had come back into the fight like a berserker. He was also complaining of back pain from where he had slammed into the wall of the house but Ranma was hopeful that that was only bruising.

Daryn had come through the best of them all, besides Theon, only taking a small gash from one of the villagers' makeshift weapons. The others were nicked and battered from head to toe and Jon was favoring his right side. Ranma alone wasn't slumped in weariness, though his arm was healing much slower than he was used to even from a wound as bad as this.

His healing ability was actually a little higher than it had been in his old world, far higher than it had been when he was sixteen and just arriving at the Tendo place. Even so, something in the wound he had taken was fighting him. He wondered what the heck that giant club had been made out of. It looked like ice, but it didn't shatter like it should have upon hitting him, so Ranma wasn't certain.

Theon's eyes narrowed as he looked at Ranma. "Speaking of, where by the Drowning God did you learn how to move like that? I know you're good, Ranma, but that was… You moved faster than I could follow sometimes, and you jumped from roof to roof with ease, as if you had been doing it all your life."

The others looked at Ranma, waiting for an answer. All except Jon who simply sat there, one hand scratching at Ghost's head. He would wait for a time they could be alone before asking his own questions. Not even these men (and woman), firm friends all, would believe the tale of Ranma remembering his previous life and carrying over the skills from it. Even Hathan, whose religion had a place for such things, would never believe that, not even with the reality of his otherworldly skills rubbed in their faces. And if they didn't believe him, well nothing good come from that.

Ranma shrugged. He wanted to tell his friends about his memories, but he knew that most of them would not believe him. Dacey might, and maybe Theon since they had lived together so long, but the others? No. The other problem came from Theon. Despite growing up alongside him, if you asked Ranma if he trusted Theon, really trusted him, the answer would be a somewhat ambivalent shrug. There just seemed to be too much of the Iron Born in Theon for Ranma to want to trust him and, if he told just the others, that kind of secret would push a further wedge between Theon and his other friends.

Still he ignored that once again and replied, "I've never tried to hide the fact that I'm simply more physically skilled than most. You all know how strong I am, how skilled. Is it such a surprise to see that maybe I've got other skills you haven't seen yet? And as for jumping from roof to roof, other than Smalljon and Roger, I bet every one of you could do it if you practiced. I like to climb trees and jumping from one to another. The skills and coordination that I learned doing that, made jumping from roof to roof pretty easy, actually."

All his friends frowned, wondering why he was so skilled in the first place, but couldn't really come up with a reason to question him further. After all, without those skills, none of them would be here.

It would have surprised them all that Ranma was thinking along similar lines, though he wasn't thinking positively about it. _I need to figure out why I can__'__t use ki attacks and why I can__'__t move as fast as I could in my old life. That barrier, whatever it is, that__'__s blocking my ki from coming out of my body, I need to break it. Whatever those things are, to fight them on a more even footing, I seriously need to get better than I am right now. _He had a few ideas as to what that barrier was, but he would need some time to think about it.

"What should we do now?" Hathan asked trotting up to him. He had not gotten out of the saddle since the fight, and had made himself a new lance almost as soon as he could. While the others were busy burning the bodies and tending to their injuries, he had been gathering the horses and had actually done a better job than he had realistically hoped, coming back with five of them. Those plus his own and Roger's gave them seven.

Ranma stared out into the distance, watching the sun's rays make their way across the land. "We'll continue as fast as we can go towards the Wall."

The others looked up at him in astonishment and he shrugged. "It's the nearest place with a maester healer and we need to tell commander Mormont about this." He gestured around them. "A verbal report will be much more easily believed, though I could wish we had some more physical evidence than our injuries and your word Osha." he said, looking over at the wild woman.

She had been tending to the injured, and she and Roger seemed to be talking quietly to one another. By the look of interest in Roger's eyes, he wondered if the man had designs on her. He shrugged that thought off as none of his business, especially since Roger wasn't the type to force his affections on anyone.

In reply to Ranma's nonverbal question, Osha nodded but resolved to keep her own secrets. She had given her word to the King Beyond the Wall, and though she had run from his army she had no desire to be a betrayer as well as an oathbreaker. She would tell the men of the Wall as much as she could, however, about the Others. She looked down as the two direwolves frolicked around, still energetic despite the nights activities, and wondered about what she had seen in the one called Fenris or his owner.

Ranma knelt down, holding out a bit of jerky to Fenris, who pounced on it gnawing at it happily while Ghost moved to his other hand nuzzling in and whining a little. He held out another bit of jerky to Jon's direwolf, wondering about the odd sensation of being Fenris for a moment there when the pup somehow warned Ranma of what was coming their way. If not for that warning, even with how on edge they had been, the group would've been taken completely by surprise by the giants.

_What was that? _Ranma thought to himself, rubbing at Fenris's head, causing the wolf pup to wag its tail. He noted absently that Fenris was bigger than he had been before this trip began and he wondered if that was normal for puppies. He had seen on this trip that Fenris had more vitality and energy than Ghost did, though he would have to wait until they got back to Winterfell to see if that was simply Ghost being much more calm and laid back than Fenris or something that was different in Fenris from his brothers and sisters.

He also resolved to get a handle on what the heck had happened between the two of them and he continued to look down at Fenris who looked up at him suddenly meeting his eyes. Suddenly it was as if Ranma was staring at himself. _Pack leader, good hunt, run good, strong, partner._

Ranma shook himself, moving back from whatever that had been when Hathan trotted back leading the horses already packed with what they could salvage. He and Jon and Daryn had created a makeshift litter, tying it between two of the horses for Edd and Roger. "We're ready to go, milord."

"Let's be about it then," Ranma replied, and the others wearily got to their feet and began to prepare themselves to leave. Ranma himself moved quickly to Roger, lifting him into the litter along one side before moving to Edd and doing the same with him. Within minutes they were on their way, with Ranma leading the way.

Around them the undead continued to burn. Within a few hours, there would be nothing left of them but ash and an hour after that the ash, too, would disappear. Nothing would remain but the wreckage of the village behind them and the wolf sworn's own injuries to provide evidence for their tale.

OOOOOOO

The Lady Catelyn moved through Winterfell, smiling faintly at the servants as she passed them. She paused a moment outside the solar, looking inside at her two daughters who were working at their stitching.

Watching them at this task, the contrast between them was even more apparent than other times. Sansa sat quietly, sewing with dexterity and skill. Already her needle and tapestry work was famed throughout Winterfell and the lands around it. A 'scarf from the lady' had become a gift sought after by both the guards and the smallfolk, something that made Sansa smile faintly when her mother informed her about it, though in truth she was often bored with Winterfell. She always enjoyed hearing stories about the South, where things actually happened rather than here, where nothing seemed to change from day to day or, if it did, it was always happening somewhere else tosomeone else.

On the other hand, Arya had never taken to sewing, tapestry, painting, or anything else that a normal lady of her station should have liked. She was fidgety, anxious, looking out at the sky through the window wistfully every other minute, and wasn't even a third of the way as far in her current design as Sansa was.

Catelyn smiled faintly, shaking her head at the sight of her youngest daughter. She had lost many battles there and so Ranma continued to train Arya so long as she continued to try and learn the womanly duties. The young girl was taking to Ranma's lessons better than Bran in truth. Bran had enthusiasm, though that seemed to have wavered since the day that Ned had taken him out to see justice done, but none of the skill or energy Arya had. All in all, even if she still thought it barbaric and far too cruel to force a child to see such, Catelyn was happy with the result, as Bran had taken to his intellectual studies even more.

Yet it was coming to a time when she would have to put her foot down, permanently, about Arya, though she was not looking forward to that. Not only would it prove detrimental to her relationship with Arya but it might also impact her relationship with her oldest. Ranma had never backed down from his statement that Arya would do whatever Arya wanted, regardless of station or gender, and Catelyn was not looking forward to his reaction when she decided to put a stop to this nonsense.

At the moment, Catelyn moved on searching for her husband, a letter clutched in one hand. News from the South was welcome at times, but this news she knew would change everything and she wasn't certain if it was going to be good or bad change.

Catelyn sighed faintly, wondering why her son was off gallivanting when both she and Ned might have need of his counsel or, at least, support. Ranma rarely gave his opinions on anything outside their family unless asked to, although he had taken to being his father's messenger and voice easily enough, getting real world experience and fulfilling every duty asked of him with flair and energy.

_Of course_, she smirked,_ that might be because he knows that he is shirking one particular duty in particular._ She was still searching for a suitable wife for her son and had found one or two that looked promising on the surface, if the families weren't too proud to see the merits of at the least looking into the match.

At first, she had thought that possibly marrying him to a Frey might actually be a good idea, but upon consultation with her father and with Ned that idea had been halted in its tracks. She hadn't realized how much bad blood was between her family and the Freys, though she had known of the disdain the northern men had for the family, calling them opportunists and cowards.

Yet if you removed the Freys from the equation, there were no families in the Riverlands of suitable importance that had daughters of the correct age. And all of the families in the North were unsuitable for one reason or another, be it age, no real need to weld their name to the Starks, or other reasons.

The Karstarks, the Reeds, and the Umbers were the only ones to have daughters of the appropriate age. The Karstarks were related already to the Starks from long ago, and their newly reinforced friendship made anything more unnecessary, despite Lord Rickard's ambition. House Umber's girl wasn't from the main line and she was already promised to another. Meera Reed was the right age but the two had met when they were very young and had fallen into the role of cousins easily, much to the later chagrin of Catelyn and Lady Isolde Reed. Ranma however was not going to be willing to change that relationship.

Catelyn found her husband working with his castellan in his office, going over some notes on field production and transportation. She recognized one of them as a note coming from House Reed, stating that the last of the stone taking from the Dread Fort had arrived and work was going to begin on renovating Moat Cailin.

Catelyn frowned at that, not liking the implications and not liking the fact that her advice on what to use the stones of the Dread Fort had been ignored. Catelyn had felt that the stones from the Dread Fort should have been added to either an existing Castle, or to help House Glover renovate their castle's walls. It was well known that Deepwood Motte was an old and poorly designed castle, yet it was an important one despite this, being on the Bay of Ice. It protected what was easily the best landing zones for coming and goings from between the mainland and Bear Island. If anything was going to be defended that should've been, since it was on the shore closest to the Iron Islands.

She did **not **trust house Greyjoy and the Ironborn to remain loyal to the crown and, in fact, didn't even trust Theon overmuch. Moreover, Catelyn felt that repairing Moat Cailin, which had been allowed to fall into disrepair over the past decade and a bit would send a bad message to those further south, since it was such a powerful defensive position against any threat further south.

She had been overruled by Ranma and Ned however. A survey of both castles had revealed that the Moat was the one most in need of repair and House Glover had been unable to come up with the manpower required to renovate their own castle or even help transport the stones through the wolfswood. Winterfell would have had to supply the workers as well as the money necessary to pay them.

House Reed was able to produce both so long as House Stark dealt with the transportation. Many of the poisonous plants and animals in the swamp of the crannogmen were sold for medicine, bringing in a goodly amount of money, making House Reed much richer than they appeared to outsiders, though they truly had need for little in the way of possessions given their lifestyle. And the transportation would be much easier, since the Kingsroad could be used for the majority of the trip.

Still, Catelyn was worried about how it would be seen by those further south, most especially those who were apparently coming north even now. "My lord," she nodded her head at Eddard, her face serious. "There is a message from King's Landing."

Ned's face gave nothing away as usual but he knew somehow it wasn't good news. He nodded his head to the castellan, indicating he should leave. Catelyn handed the note over quickly and Ned read it silently. He sighed as he sank back into his desk's seat raising his free hand to massage his eyes for a moment. "I take it you have read this?" he asked.

"I have." Catelyn frowned, reaching forward to take his hand gently. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Jon Arryn dead," Ned muttered. "I know he was old man, but he was still hale and hearty the last time we saw one another. This is a sad day. Have you had word from your sister?"

Catelyn's younger sister, Lysa, had been married to Jon Arryn in an attempt to forge an alliance between the Riverlands and the Vale of Arryn. It hadn't worked as well as it might have, exacerbated because the marriage had borne little fruit, save for one sickly child, and Lysa and Jon's different ages. The fact that Lysa had to marry such an old man and the fact that no love had blossomed between the two was a major point of contention between the two sisters. "I have not. I'll send my condolences but we haven't talked in years. You know she somewhat resents the fact that I am," she smiled as their fingers twined together, "happy in my marriage to you and that it has been so fruitful."

Ned smiled faintly reaching out to take her hand in both of his as she sat down on his desk. "I see. Nonetheless, the king is coming here. We will have to send ravens out telling Ranma and the others to return here to welcome them. It will take the royal party weeks at best, months at worst, to get here depending on how many they bring. Yet for all of that, there is only one reason for that I can think of that would be enough for Robert to come north."

"King Robert means to make you the Kings Hand." his wife replied. "A great honor, though I am uncertain if it is a good idea."

"You do not think that Ranma could handle himself here?"

"I think he most certainly could!" she said angrily then blushed a little shaking her head. "You know what I mean. I am proud of our son, but he is still a young man, with all the impetuosity of the breed. This whole adventure he's on at the moment should be proof enough of that."

Ned frowned, once more wondering if he should share his suspicions about why Ranma had the memories of his past life fueling his abilities, and why he had really gone north, something they had not shared with her for fear of stiffening her resolve against Ranma's going. While reincarnation was a part of the Seven's doctrine, Ranma and Ned were both certain he was here at the will of the old gods, which would not sit well with Catelyn, despite the fact that she had come to at least not look down on the old god religion.

Eventually, he said, "I cannot in good conscience turn it down. Robert is my friend and without Jon there to watch out for him he will be at sea when it comes to politics and running the kingdom. And besides," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek tenderly, "Ranma will have your counsel here to rely on."

That was said with quite a bit of pride in his voice. No other lady in the northern lands could handle herself as well as Lady Catelyn in the area of land management or politics, and Winterfell and its environment had thrived under the two of them. Indeed, the ideas that she had brought to farming alone was a large advancement. The idea of rotating crops, as they did now, had made the lands his family commanded, as well as those of the vassals that answered to them directly, richer than they had ever been before. They actually produced a bit of a surplus, allowing them to send food elsewhere in the North to lands that didn't have as much arable land such as House Umber or Glover.

"I know," she sighed faintly "but I still worry. And… I have had some thoughts about possible betrothals for our son."

"Oh?" Ned chuckled. "And who exactly are you going to recruit to control our wayward boy?"

Catelyn told him her two best choices and he looked at her in shock. "There is no chance of them agreeing! We aren't wealthy enough to interest the first. Besides, the last time someone from that realm married a northerner, it did not turn out well for either the houses or the individuals. And as for the second, no, just no. The hatred they have for anyone who had anything to do with the rebellion means any marriage into that line would be folly at best."

"I will bow to your experience with those of Dorne, but you cannot think that a single marriage is a good test of such things, Ned. And besides, unless we start looking at much younger or much older ladies, outside of the Freys and the Western Lands there isn't anyone of a suitable rank."

Ned frowned, not liking either option for much the same reason. "I suppose you can pursue this, though I would be astonished if you got a positive response."

"I as well," Catelyn admitted, "but it would not hurt to make inquiries, possibly set up a face to face meeting between the two."

Her husband nodded at that then turned back to his paperwork, and Catelyn excused herself to see to sending out several ravens to various parties.

OOOOOOO

Ranma and his now extremely ragged band of friends continued on their way for another week before they were within sight of Castle Black, the home and headquarters of the Night Watch. All of them, even Smalljon who had actually been here once before with his father, stopped and stared at the sight of the Wall.

A loud horn coming from one of the small towers announced they had been seen and that they were friends, seeing the black wolfs-head banner fluttering in the breeze from Hathan's lance, standing upright by his side.

To say the Wall was massive would be like saying the ocean was wet. It was simply monstrous, made of stone and ice, more resembling a mountain carved semi-smooth by the hands of a god rather than something made by the hands of man. Even from here only Ranma could barely make out the top of the wall, and even he could not make out the buttresses or crenellations, which disappeared into the clouds well above them.

In comparison, Castle Black didn't seem to be a real castle, as it didn't have a wall surrounding it, instead being a series of keeps and towers, all of which, even the largest, was utterly dwarfed by the massive wall behind them. Most of them were sturdy looking and seemed well made, though a few had obviously seen better days. On the southern face of the Wall, was a long wood and pulley elevator, its wooden beams hammered into the ice of the Wall itself. From here, several men could be made out exercising in the courtyard around one of the keeps. Other men had already begun to race to what looked like a stable.

Yet, it was the wall that grabbed their attention. "They say it was raised by Bran the builder," Jon said looking at the Wall in wonder, "our ancestor, Ranma."

Ranma shook his head, pride for his family filling him. "It is an amazing sight." he said, his voice full of awe. Even in his old life he had never seen something that came close to this. It made the portions of the Great Wall of China he had seen seem small and miserly in comparison. In truth, it made anything made by man on Earth seem small.

Osha, however, had a much different reaction to the Wall. She simply glared and spit to one side. The Northerners saw this but ignored it, knowing the wildling disdain for the Wall and those that lived beyond it, who they called 'kneelers'.

The group remained there, staring up at the Wall as three riders approached them quickly.

Ranma smiled faintly as he saw one of them was his uncle Benjen, Master Ranger of the Nights Watch, though all three pulled up sharply in surprise as they came close enough to see how battered the group was. Both Roger and Edd were being carried in a litter between two of the horses and Osha was riding next to Roger. She had taken over looking over their wounds as best she could. Despite their condition and the injuries of the riding wounded, Ranma had set a brisk pace. They hadn't stopped since the battle against the wights and monster giants, crossing nearly half of The Gift in that time.

"Ranma!" Benjen reached down from his saddle to grasp his nephew's hand. The fact that Ranma was on foot didn't bother him, he had seen the almost unnatural endurance the boy had before, though the injuries of his companions were much more worrisome. "What, in the name of the old gods, did you all run into?"

"Uncle." Ranma said, grasping the man's forearm with his good arm. His other arm still hadn't quite healed, though most of the black and blue marks had faded slightly and the bone had been set. For some reason, whatever the club he had been hit by was made of, it seemed to be fighting his ability to heal himself and he could barely force any extra ki into that arm, to help the process. It was still healing but Ranma had no idea what the club could have been made of to create such an effect. "We need to talk to you and Commander Mormont."

Not ten minutes later, Ranma sat down in a somewhat comfortable seat in the commander's office in the Lord Commander's tower, sipping at a very hot mug of tea while Jon and Theon did the same, leaning against the wall behind him. The office was small, dominated by a single wide desk but it had a few chairs with one somewhat good one on the other side of the desk where the Old Bear, Jeor Mormont, sat.

Jeor was a large man, now bent slightly with age, yet still possessing wide shoulders and lively eyes set into a weather beaten face. He had no hair on top of his head but a white and grey beard grew down to his chest. His hands, clasped on the desk in front of him, were large and strong looking despite the signs of age there. All in all, he cut a formidable figure and had an air of command that could be felt by anyone in his presence.

Throughout Ranma's narrative he had remained silent, simply taking it in while Benjen asked a few questions, mostly about the giants and what they had been able to glean from talking to the wildling woman. He sat that way for several minutes after the tale concluded then slowly shook his head. "That is an unbelievable tale young Stark, and I mean that sincerely, in admiration of the fact that you all survived and in disbelief of what you ran into."

"I know sir," Ranma said seriously. "It was near run thing most of the time." And it had been, even for Ranma. Caught by surprise and unable to open up any distance without leaving his friends behind, he had been forced to fight a more constrained battle than he would have preferred. Without ki attacks, it had been damn difficult. Not exhausting really, but tough.

"I'm not doubting that or your word, but then again, I've spent more years than you've been alive up here on the wall, I doubt even many people even here in the North will believe you with only your injuries as proof. And you say the giants or whatever they were decomposed quickly?"

"They came apart almost as soon as we killed them, sir." Jon replied. "I thought that was unusual but there didn't seem to be anything we could do to stop it. And by the time we were ready to go, a lot of the undead bodies were also ash."

From where he was leaning against the wall behind the Lord Commander, Benjen Stark frowned thoughtfully, tugging at his beard, which was rather short, only coming down to the top of his chest but was still completely brown, although it was somewhat unkempt in comparison to Jeor's. Benjen was Ned's younger brother and looked it, having much the same facial features: a long face with high cheek bones and dark grey eyes that could appear blue tinted if he was happy. He was a tall man, though not as broad as Ned was across the shoulders, and seemed built for speed and endurance over strength. His eyes were set deep into a face worn by weather even more than Jeor's, despite being much younger. Even here he wore a longsword at his side.

When he spoke, he seconded his commander's thoughts. "I don't believe even our fellow Night Watch members will believe you ran into a force of the Others, Ranma. **I'm** not even certain that's what you did, either. I don't know how it could be done, but wildlings could have found something, some way to raise the dead and control them, or perhaps some kind of mind control spell. There are supposedly sorcerers and mages over in the free cities of Essos, possibly one of them has come to the lands beyond the Wall? No, you personally didn't see a White Walker, so you only have supposition, not proof, and as for the undead rising, that is even more unbelievable."

"When you talk to anyone but possibly Greatjon, don't mention the giants and do not, by the old gods, mention your opinion that this is a sign the White Walkers have returned. You'll only make them disbelieve you entirely. Tell them you ran into a trick of the wildlings, some illusion or other that covered their approach and that'll be enough to arouse their interest without arousing their skepticism at the same time. That will be enough for you to rouse the North and get us some aid on the Wall."

Ranma nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose, though I'm not happy about it. Still, I'll talk to my father when I get back and we'll stop in at every Castle we can on the way back. Do you think it might be a good idea to leave our injured here and head back without them? Normally I wouldn't even think it, but I want to get the word out about this and I want supplies, especially, to start heading your way as soon as possible. The Gift is practically empty, there's no way it can support a large force on the Wall."

"True enough." Jeor nodded, smiling faintly. "I'll take whatever help we can get."

"The wildlings have been acting oddly lately, we've seen a lot of movement on their side, especially in larger groups, larger than we've ever seen before in my time as a ranger." Benjen added. "We might be looking at another king beyond the wall and if we are, even without the White Walkers throwing their weight in, we could be in for some rough times."

Jeor nodded grim agreement with his Master Ranger. "The Night Watch is weaker now than it has ever been in my lifetime. But no, I think you should take your wounded with you. The Karstark boy has a concussion but he will survive and Roger Ryswell's ribs are already on the mend, as are all the other cuts and bruises you lot sustained. I wouldn't recommend going very fast for either of them but if you stay here and rest for a few days, they'll be up to riding again."

"Besides, Ranma," Benjen stood moving around the desk and clapping his nephew on the arm, "this gives me the chance to show you lot the Wall." Despite his relatively upbeat attitude, however, Benjen was very worried. The White Walkers had not been seen in millennia, so the odds of this being them were slim. Yet even if this was some sorcerer who was able to mimic their powers somehow, it would be a very bad time indeed for the men of the Wall. He hoped his nephew could convince the Lords of the North of the seriousness of the threat stirring beyond the Wall, because he doubted that without their aid, the Night Watch would be able to withstand the storm he could all too easily see on the horizon.

For the next few days, while Jeor spent time with his granddaughter and sent out orders to the rangers, pulling them back closer to the Wall, as well as to the other two fortresses of the Night Watch, Benjen showed the rest of the wolf-sworn, those that were not convalescing at any rate, the Wall. Every day they went up the elevator (save for Ranma who raced them up the steps, which he felt was damn good training) and were shown the Wall, moving along the top of the massive fortification. The wall was so wide, the entire group could walk side by side along it with room to spare on either side, comfortably away from the drop to the ground so far below. Here and there they came upon ballistae, ranging from catapults to massive crossbows, and there were hundreds of large, man sized pots, ready to be filled with something to dump on any attackers that tried to scale the wall.

Yet, for all the obvious strength of the Wall, it was quite obvious that much of the defenses were in disrepair due to lack of personnel. Once they got more than ten miles from the castle along the Wall, they began to run into ballistae and other defenses that were rotted, falling apart, or simply frozen in place, becoming part of the Wall. Of course, men patrolled the Wall in groups of ten along its entire length, but even so, there wasn't enough of them to do that and get the defenses back in working order. Both Jon and Ranma noticed, also, that most of the ballistae were older styles, not having the range of newer types, and none of them were mobile.

All this, combined with the threat they had run into (or, as Ranma was almost certain, been ambushed by) made certain that all the wolf-sworn knew how important it was to get as much help to the Wall as soon as they could. They also all agreed to not share the true nature of the threat for a time. The fact the wildlings were gathering would be enough to get the North to send aid. After that, they might be able to convince them of the real threat, later.

During this time, the two brothers also talked alone, and Ranma told Jon as much as he could about the vision he had in the godswood. Ranma told him about visions of betrayal, the fact he was fighting humans a lot of the time, and the fact the vision ended with a White Walker staring at him with those glowing blue eyes. Jon agreed that part matched the historical description of the White Walkers, and vowed once more to stand with Ranma come what may. He also demanded they step up his training as soon as they could so he could come closer to matching Ranma's sheer lethality.

The Night Watch Commanders expert opinion was proven correct, and within three days, the group was once more riding out, with Osha still traveling with them. The Wall was no place for a woman, as the song of Brave Danny Flint told anyone who cared to listen. More, she hated the Night Watch with a passion, and had refused to even stay with Jeor himself in his quarters.

Ranma and Jon were at the back of the group, looking down and smiling faintly at their wolves, who both of the young men had taken time over the past few days to get even closer to. Ranma couldn't quite figure out their connection just yet, but he could feel it growing with every passing day He was certain now that Fenris had taken on some aspects of his abilities and maybe a bit of his personality, too. He was already three inches larger tail to nose than Ghost as well as standing a little taller at the shoulders and he could keep up with Ranma on foot for several hours. The wolf was always running around everywhere and seemed to delight in play fighting with Ranma or Ghost.

Jon however soon switched his gaze from the two direwolf pups to staring back over his shoulder at the Wall. Ranma noticed this and nudged his leg. "It was amazing, wasn't it?"

"It was," Jon said softly, "but that wasn't why I was still staring. I just feel as if I'm going to be up here again, sometime. As if my fate is tied to the Wall." He looked down at his brother. "Does that sound odd to you?"

"A little," Ranma laughed, "but not all that much. We both know why of course," he said looking ahead of them where the rest of their party had opened up a bit of a lead on them, "but for now, your fate is tied to mine. Remember what you said, you stand with me. Your fate might be on the Wall, but that will only be because I'm there too."

John nodded seriously and the two brothers clasped hands briefly renewing their vow before racing to catch up with their fellows. None of them noticed a single raven winging its way overhead heading toward Castle Black.

OOOOOOO

"Welcome, your grace." Lord Howland Reed bowed his head, seeming even smaller than he normally would as he stood next to the king on his steed. Like all crannogmen, he was short, wiry ,and somewhat hunched, though the women did not share that last aspect. His clothing was well made, but durable rather than high quality, in colors of green and brown predominantly, able to blend in easily with the swamp of the Neck. He had a short, well-trimmed beard, and his hair was cropped short as well. His eyes were bright and intelligent. His cloak was clasped with a green lacquered pin shaped like a lizard-lion, its back arched and mouth open.

Robert grunted, looking around at Moat Cailin. There was a lot of work being done in the area, several dozen men had stopped their work, repairing and renovating the towers of the Moat with stone, to bow their heads to Robert and his entourage. The Moat had once been a **massive** castle. It was designed to dominate the causeway, the only route through the Neck that was large enough to be viable for an invading army to use going either way, much like the Twins further south, only more so.

It was possibly one of the three deadliest defensive positions in Westeros, only matched by the Bloody Gate of the Vale and Casterly Rock. There were stronger, larger, and better built castles, but no others whose positions gave them such natural advantages.

Even now with only three large towers, it could hold for years against any army from the south. Each tower could hold two to three hundred soldiers comfortably, including two ballista on each tower. All the towers were situated around the causeway and any army that tried to attack or pass through would be mauled by the defenders. And given the bend in the causeway, no ballista or other siege equipment could be brought to bear on them in turn without being well inside their range.

But most of the rest of the castle had fallen into disrepair, making the Moat vulnerable from the North. Yet, the work being done now was putting two more towers back into working order plus three connecting walls, covering the Moat from the back and western flanks, leaving the only entrance, other than the causeway, the shifting, dangerous trails leading further into the swamp.

Robert took all this in, then turned back to the crannogman. "Ho, Howland. We mean to press on." Robert spat to one side of his horse, away from the crannogman since otherwise that could have been taken as an insult. "The queen is not one to rough it out here with you lot. But I must ask, what's all the work about? Where did the stone come from, it already looks cut?"

Howland blinked. "Your grace, surely you've heard about House Bolton and the destruction of the Dread Fort?"

Robert frowned a moment, then nodded, his face lighting up with humor. "Aye, now that you say it, I remember reading a missive from Ned about that several years ago. Something about Bolton taking the normal raiding too far, and it rolling over his son? Killed the old leech himself didn't he?" Robert laughed loudly and rather abrasively. "So that explains where the stones come from, but why here?"

"We outbid House Glover to be the house given the stone to repair our castle, your grace. We could provide the workmen and pay them while House Glover could only provide the workmen. Also, transporting the stone down to here was much easier than trying to send any large shipments of stone through the wolfswood. We can of course make use of the Kingsroad, they could not."

"I see, a good use of the material, I guess." Robert mused. "Well, if we want to leave the Neck behind before finding an inn, we need to get a move on. We'll you see on our way back." With that the king turned back and rejoined the company.

Howland stared after him thoughtfully, taking in the king's body, the wine stains on his clothing, and the red eyes, shaking his head. He had seen people drinking themselves into early graves before and the king definitely looked like he was doing the same.

The king rejoined the party, telling the others with him about the reasons behind the new construction, but unlike the king, they were much more suspicious. "I cannot understand it my lord, there is no need to repair the Moat unless you are concerned with threats from the south," Varys, the Master of Whispers, suggested.

Varys was a eunuch, fat and bald, always coiffed in purple silk or other outrageous color and smelling of perfume. He was also known as the Spider due to his extensive spy network. Indeed, he was ostensibly along with this trip to check in personally with a few of his 'little birds', his personal spy ring. Considering the rumors that the man had been following up on, Robert had been willing to let him come with them.

"You heard the explanation, Varys." said Robert coldly. "It makes sense, especially if House Glove can't fork out the money."

"Possibly, my Lord." Varys muttered. "Yet, still it seems odd to me."

Robert grunted and ignored him from then on.

Varys frowned, he never truly liked the fact that King was almost immobile on some issues, and far too easily manipulated in others. Robert also had a blind spot when it came to those loyal to him. _But he could be right in this_, the eunuch thought to himself, _after all house Stark has never made any move against the crown, it would not have done so even during the rebellion if not for the death of the Lord and his heir as well as the daughter of the house_. _ Still, it is odd to me._

Such was the nature of those who work in the shadows; they are always on the lookout for other shadows, other plots, and those with dangerous ambitions. It would never occur to the eunuch to just take Lord Reed's words at face value, a problem that would carry over into other matters.

OOOOOOO

The trip back South was as uneventful as the trip up had been, up until they ran into the wildling refugee party. It took them a month to reach the Last Hearth, seat of House Umber, where they were welcomed with open arms.

The Last Hearth was a squat sort of castle, melting into the ground around it, made of stone torn from the earth nearby. House Umber was known for its stocks of wood and stone and their castle showed it, though, thanks to the lack of roads here in the North, they weren't actually able to sell much of it to anyone else. Even getting from the quarries to the Kingsroad was a trial for anything larger than a mule. Their castle was nowhere near as large as some of the castles further south but there was a certain blunt practicality about it, much like Winterfell. Around it in clusters were several small communities, not even villages really, for smallfolk, with a few more scattered through the forests of the Umber lands. People this far north tended to band together like that, there wasn't a single farmstead or woodcutter's cottage in these lands. Too many such had disappeared, sucked up by the wilderness or taken out by wildling raids.

As they came closer they heard the harsh calls and commands from the castle's wall, always at full strength here, unlike Winterfell, which only had fifty men on the walls, most of the time.

Osha looked scornfully at the Castle knowing it to be the main bastion of the Umber kneelers, but she became subdued when Ranma glanced at her. In truth, the wild woman was rather in awe of the young Stark. The speed and monstrous strength he had shown during the battle against the tools of the Others had astonished her.

As soon as they were close enough, someone hailed them from the walls, shouting down. "Smalljon! What the fuck happened to you all, you look as if you've run into an army!"

Smalljon waved his hand up at his father, who had been the one to shout. Indeed, even so many weeks later their clothing and general appearance hadn't changed overmuch and Roger and Edd were still riding gingerly, even though all their other injuries, even Ranma's arm, had healed.

Greatjon Umber was a massive man, taller than even his son, though admittedly, his son still had some growing to do. He stood at around six feet eight, three inches taller than Smalljon, and even broader in the shoulders. He was reputed to be the strongest man in the North lands. In reality, Ranma knew that Smalljon was stronger than his father these days and Ranma was stronger than Smalljon. "We ran into something new father, something that we need to share with you!"

Later that evening Ranma, Smalljon, and Jon met with Greatjon in his Hall, while his servants were preparing a meal for their arrival.

Greatjon was not only a large man, but he had a full head of hair, a massive beard, and big shaggy eyebrows. Everything about him was larger than life really, even his voice. "So," he boomed, "what did you lads run into?"

Ranma cocked his head to one side thinking of whether or not to follow his uncle's advice. He shared a glance with Smalljon and shook his head slightly, something his father missed, thankfully, and decided to follow Benjen's advice. "We ran into a wildling force before we hit the wall." Ranma explained. "They'd hit one of the villages in the Gift, emptied it of people and hid everywhere inside it. We didn't suspect anything for a bit, since we couldn't find any sign of anyone being there, despite having searched a few houses. They attacked us in the middle of the night, and they brought giants." That was close enough to the truth that Greatjon would get most of the pertinent information without getting so much he started to question what really happened.

"We lost both of the Norrey scouts the clan assigned to our expedition, and it was touch and go for several of the others too." Ranma grimaced at that, still not liking the fact he had lost men and the fact they had to burn the bodies. He had sent a raven from the wall to the Norrey clan telling of their heroism, though giving them the same prepared story as he would everyone else.

The older man looked at them in surprise. "Giants, truly? They haven't been seen even close to the Wall in hundreds of years." From anyone else, he would have scoffed at the very idea that the almost mythical giants, who resided in the Frozen Lands beyond even the wildlings land, would ever come south. But he had never known Ranma or Smalljon to tell such a bald faced lie. The rest of the story was much easier to swallow, since the wildlings were masters of ambush. The fact they had wiped out a whole village without word getting out, however, was a worrisome sign of how empty the Gift was becoming.

"I don't know what to tell you." Ranma said shrugging. "One minute all was fine, then there were giants smashing through the back of the house we had taken over for the evening." From there Ranma went back and explained how they had run into the first group of wildlings, who were heading south fleeing from something, he didn't specify what, letting Greatjon come to his own conclusions.

"So something is stirring behind the Wall." Greatjon muttered shaking his head. "That is fell news."

"Yes," Ranma answered crisply, "and it is for that reason that I want you to spread the word that something is going on with the wildlings, we may be facing another King Beyond the Wall here. The Night Watch is weak now, weaker than they've been in a hundred years, and commander Jeor needs all the aid we can send him. You'll start the process, both people and food. The Gift is nearly empty, the wildlings seem to be able to get small forces around the wall, and without the Gift the Night Watch can't sustain itself, unless we all send aid."

Greatjon leaned back in his large chair, scoffing. "You may be your father's heir boy, but you don't order me."

"Yes," Ranma said coldly, "I do. Winter is coming, and we must prepare." His hard blue eyes held the older man's.

Eventually Greatjon looked away. "I won't be alone in this, just the first?"

"Yes," Ranma replied. "We'll stop at every hold along the way we can and I'll be sending Edd home from here to Karhold to get them moving, as well."

"How much of my ready force do you think we should send?" Greatjon asked now past the posturing. The boy had proven time and time again that he wasn't someone to cross and always met such challenges head on, just like he should. Greatjon approved of that.

"I'd like you to send half, you keep three hundred men, yes? Send one hundred fifty, that'll leave you with more than enough to guard your castle, and give the Night Watch a decent addition for their forces. If every lord, major and minor, can send half of his ready men up there, then that should be enough. Hell," Ranma laughed sharply, "the Wall is such a good defensive location that one man is worth a thousand attackers. Though I've also asked my uncle to make certain that word is sent to every Castle in the North if any large contingents of wildlings approach. If we are facing a King Beyond the Wall, their numbers will be staggering, plus with this new ability to get forces large enough to be a threat around the Wall, we might need a defense in depth as well. With the Gift as it is, any supplies we send will have to be well defended."

It was actually that suggestion that had made the commander unable to send a raven after Ranma and his group, having used all his ravens up sending the news to the other lords of the North.

"I'll send my men out in the morning, with my uncle Mors in command. He'll take orders from Jeor easily enough being of an age with him, and he has a hatred of the wildlings that burns bright in him." Greatjon nodded his head then smiled suddenly, his whole face creasing around it. "You've your father's way about you, lad, both your take charge attitude and seeing true to the crux of the problem."

Ranma shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, and Greatjon guffawed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Go on lad, at least we can set you on your way with a hot meal and good night's sleep."

Ranma feasted well that night with his friends, of whom Smalljon was going to stay here and help his father, while Edd rested for some more days before heading home with a small escort. In fact, Smalljon was probably going to be put in charge of the wagons and two-hundred or so smallfolk that would eventually go north. This would be the first small caravan that would be sent, but within four months the Wall would be strengthened massively.

The very next day, the group rode out again, leaving Smalljon behind them with many clasps of farewell. The plan was to head to Hornwood, through the ex-Bolton lands, then send Hathan home to White Harbor with the news from there, while Daryn would remain with his family at Hornwood. The others would continue on, returning to Winterfell. There Ranma would speak to his father and the two of them would send out messengers to rouse the rest of the noble houses and prepare their bannermen.

A week later as they rode, or ran in Ranma and the direwolves case, they came upon a hill that overlooked the site of where the Dread Fort once stood.

Osha had breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were out of the Umber lands, knowing them for the most implacable of enemies and grateful to have been under Ranma's protection during their stay. Yet, now she was looking around with wide eyes. She and Jon often spent time conversing, Jon getting better at the old tongue while teaching her their own in turn and he filled her in on what had happened here. Once she learned this had been the flayed man's land and what had happened to them, she was relieved beyond all measure. Umbers would kill or rape you; what the flayed men did was worse by far.

Ranma pulled the horse he had been given by Greatjon momentarily, looking towards where the Dread Fort had stood. The others left him to it until he shook his head and moved to join them. The majority of the stone had been sent South, but two minor lords, answering to Hornwood and Umber, had their longhouses expanded and built up in turn. As the Dread Fort had never been designed to house any smallfolk, the impact on the people of the region was minor, save for one or two houses that had shared Bolton's inclinations, who were most put out by their new lords. When they took to banditry to express this feeling Greatjon had responded by removing their heads for them and adding their holdings to other houses in the area with Ned Stark's approval.

All that remained of the Dread Fort was the godswood, now standing free of any man made walls. It had grown in the past few years, almost mystically fast, to completely cover the area previously occupied by the castle. Nor was that the only change. The heartwood in the center of the godswood had once looked like a flayed man's face, constantly weeping sap. Now however for some reason the sap had dried up and the face, which had seemed to be screaming in agony before, was now smiling. Ranma had seen that once a few years ago, and the sight had made him smile.

Now, however, he frowned as a thought came to him. "Does anyone know what happened to Domeric anyway?"

Daryn shrugged. "He went across the sea to the free cities of Essos. That was about, what, two years ago, I think."

"Ah," Ranma said nodding, "I'd wondered. I wasn't exactly fond of him, he was a nice enough guy but way too interested in putting me in song and story."

They all laughed and he growled at them then looked down at Fenris who had imitated the sound. The puppies could now run along with the horses and him for half a day before having to ride and their endurance was building daily. Still, he knew that Fenris was done for the day and he leaned down, allowing the pup to leap into his hands. Fenris licked his face and Ranma chuckled, pulling out a bit of chicken, which the two shared, as Ranma made plans on how to train Fenris and figure out what the hell their connection was.

OOOOOOO

Domeric Snow, as he rather fondly called himself after Lord Stark's decree that the Bolton line was dead, loved the bard's life. He sang for his supper, he traveled and saw new and interesting places, and he had no ties to the land of his birth or his father. Here in the cities of Essos, he was known as Domeric, the Crooked Hand, due to his hand where the skin had grown back to look stiff and inflexible. Yet, for all that, it slowed neither his sword nor his harp playing and his wits were still as sharp as they ever were, tempered now by the memories of betrayal and personal suffering. Domeric had made his way from city to city, sampling each in turn, but not finding anything (or anyone) that could compel him to stay. He was always more interested in what lay just beyond the horizon than what was right in front of him.

Right now he was in Pentos, a city where life was based off of the golden rule: he who has the gold makes the rules. The rich magisters ran everything, using a puppet prince to add a bit of theater to their iron grip but nothing more than that. Rules and laws only mattered to those not rich enough to bribe their way out of trouble or pay to have the laws changed. Case in point: there were not supposed to be any slaves here, but the rich had servants who wore bronze collars and had as little rights as slaves.

He looked up slightly, letting his eyes rake over the young man and younger girl who had just turned onto the street where he was singing in front of a medium sized crowd. Both were dressed in ragged cloaks covering them from head to toe, yet, a flash of platinum still could be seen underneath their hoods.

Domeric had written several new songs and many of them, especially his masterpiece, the Ballad of the Young Wolf, were always well received. Of course he had changed a few things for the Ballad, making his own part in that conflict into a maiden to add some romance to it. And he had kept his promise to young Ranma. In the song, Ranma had flowing hair, true, but it was his normal black. His eyes had needed no embellishment, and many a girl had tittered about those 'deep sapphire orbs'.

Like all experienced bards, Domeric was able to play and sing while keeping his attention on other matters and he watched the two silver-blond haired siblings (With that hair, who else could it be but the Beggar King and his sister?) moving down the street even as he played the 'Ballad of the Young Wolf. They stopped, however, at the edge of the crowd around Domeric. From underneath her hood, the sister smiled faintly at the current tale of heroism Domeric's harp was playing, while the older brother was staring at him with a burning intensity, a look that somewhat worried Domeric.

They waited until the song ended then, when Domeric bowed and told the crowd that was it for the morning, the older sibling began to move through the dispersing crowd. Soon he stood before the bard and spoke abruptly, his voice even and cultured, belying his ragged clothes. "Your voice has the tone of a Westerosi, be that true? Have you any news from Westeros?"

"Aye, a man of the North I am. Domeric Snow at your service, formerly of house Bolton." Domeric bowed extravagantly. "What kind of news are you interested in, scion of house Targaryen?" At the young man's sudden sharp glare, he shrugged. "Who else has hair or eyes that color, Lord Viserys?

"Bolton?" The young girl looked up. She must have been all of fifteen, if that. She gave the impression of being shy and mousy in demeanor, yet her general intelligence shown through those violet eyes. "Then that tale you just sung, it was true?" At her brothers glare, the girl hunched her shoulders and backed away, pulling her hood further down to cover her face.

A face, Domeric could see now that they were standing in front of him, that was quite beautiful, if too young for his tastes. Still he answered her question readily enough. "Aye lady, 'tis true as death, t'was a tale of the death of my former house and good riddance besides. What they found in the hidden halls of the Dread Fort." Domeric shook his head, shivering theatrically. It had been years after all and he had become used to the memories of that time of his life, both what happened to him and the sights of the skins, hanging in the air of his father's dungeons that they had found after sacking the fort. "Yet, let us not dwell on such things, again, what kind of news are you interested in?"

The older boy continued to glare at his sister for a moment then turned back to Domeric. "You follow house Stark then, the traitors. Why should I listen to you?"

"Because you came up to me, my lord. And the Starks were no more traitors than the Mad King Aerys was sane. No family could have allowed his horrible murder of its lord and heir to go unpunished, to say nothing of the young lady of the house being kidnapped by Rhaegar."

The younger man snarled while the girl gasped in shocked incredulity. But it was Viserys who had the most violent reaction. He reached under his cloak and pulled out a long dagger. "You lie and I'll gut you for besmirching the honor or my family!"

Domeric quickly caught the younger man's wrist with his good hand, holding the blade still. "Calmly, lord, calmly. I said not a word that was untrue, and every man and woman in Westeros, aye and maybe more than most here in Essos, know the tale by heart. If you react so badly to all such inconvenient truths, then how will you convince any to serve you?"

"They should serve me because it is my right to sit on the Iron Throne!" Viserys gritted his teeth, trying to free his hand but having little success. "The Baratheon usurper has no right to it!"

"That at least is true, if by right, you mean by blood. Yet, Baratheon won the throne the way your own ancestors made it, by killing and forcing any who stood against him into submission. That is not to say that he is a good king, because he is not. I have heard many things in my travels both on Westeros and here in Essos, and I know that for truth. Now, have you calmed down enough for me to let you go? Or should I turn this blade of yours on you, then walk away and let your sister, I believe I have heard her name given as Daenerys, to her own devices?", Dominic asked, his voice showing no strain at holding the younger man in place. Indeed for all his bluster, the boy had no muscle to speak of and was obviously untrained in matters of combat. Domeric, on the other hand, was reckoned a fell blade and his undamaged hand was his dominant one.

Viserys frowned, then regained control of his anger, that pure violent anger that he knew proved he was a true Targaryen. He nodded his head sharply. "Very well, I will hear what you have to say. Tell me anything you know about the court and Kings Landing."

Domeric kept from rolling his eyes with difficulty, wondering how the hell someone dressed in rags and who had next to nothing to his name, no swords at his back and no real power base, could ever sound so imperious. "Well, your highness, if you are interested in such as that, the first thing you must know is that the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, is dead. He was an old man but the suddenness of his death is astonishing, and possibly suspicious."

"If you have news of Essos, sir bard, then pray come into my home and share it in more seeming environs." a new voice interrupted.

Domeric turned and looked toward the speaker, nearly bursting out in laughter at the sight of the man. The man was obese, so over weight, it was a surprise he could move under his own power at all. He was also the proud owner an oiled, forked yellow beard and beady, yet intelligent eyes set into a fat, florid face.

It was his obvious wealth, however, that stopped Domeric's laughter in his throat. The man had a ring worth a normal man's yearly wages on each of his fat fingers and he had jewels and golden thread worked throughout his red and gold shirt; a vast expanse of silk that again was so expensive Domeric could have made enough money off it to live for years without needing to raise his voice in song even once. On either side of the man were two very competent looking bodyguards, each with long spears in hand and short swords on their belts, wearing quarter plate armor.

The man continued to speak, looking now at Viserys, his voice taking on an buttery tone. "I had heard news of you arriving in the city, my lord, but had no idea you were so close, else I would have had my manse to meet you all the sooner. I am Illyrio, I'm glad you got my message. Come, let us take this bard inside and sit down to eat while he tells his news."

Domeric knew he didn't actually have a choice, but then again this looked to be interesting. In many ways, he had somewhat tired of the lonely life of the road and being adviser to these two young dragons looked to be fraught with peril and daring do, all of which he could easily turn to song. So he merely nodded, smiling faintly. "That sounds like a lovely idea, magister, so long as I am invited to sup as well?"

Illyrio laughed, loud and false to Domeric's ears, before turning to lead the way back to his house. As they fell into step behind him, the young girl looked up at the bard. "Is, is what you said about King Aerys true?" She whispered fear and revulsion in her eyes. "Is he really called the Mad King?"

Domeric paused, looking down at the girl thoughtfully. "I was a young squire in the Stormlands when the Rebellion began, lady. I well remember the reasons behind it, the murders and the use of fire on innocents, young and old, lord and smallfolk alike no matter the infraction. All that is public record in Westeros, lady. You have no need to take my word for it, simply find a recent history book or scroll. Always remember, if someone tells you something, make certain it is the truth and do not take anything at face value. I will say that when he took the throne, Aerys was well liked, even loved. But by the time he was slain through Lannister treachery, aye, he was hated and reviled. Time and power lass, can change many a man or even a woman."

Daenerys nibbled at her lower, lip taking in his words, but the moment was broken when her older brother shouted for her to come and walk with him. Domeric looked after the young girl thoughtfully, then at the guard who had taken position at the back of their small group, shrugged his shoulders, and followed the Targaryen siblings into the house, wondering what the future held for him.

OOOOOOO

The trip continued, and a few weeks leisurely travel later they arrived at Hornwood castle where they were greeted with open arms by Lord Halys, as well as his Lady Donella.

Donella was older than Catelyn, pushing fifty years old, but despite that she was still beautiful. She had straight black hair falling down her back with only a hint of gray to it, a curvaceous body, and a beautiful face, which hid a witty brain besides. As such, her husband was the envy of many a lord in the North. Ranma had heard that there had been many men of the North trying to woo Donella Manderly when she was younger and could well believe it looking at her. She was also like Catelyn in that she was a decent enough administrator, able to help her husband manage their lands effectively.

"You are welcome here young lords, though I'm afraid you should not tarry," Halys said holding out his hand to Ranma and the others one after another as they jumped down from their saddles, before pulling his son into a hug. "We have fresh horses for you and you must hurry to Winterfell."

"Why?" Ranma asked, cocking his head. "Has our news gone before us?"

Halys shook his head. "No, we have had no ravens from House Umber or the Wall, what is your news? But in any event news has come from Winterfell. The King is riding for Winterfell even as we speak, he's halfway to Castle Cerwyn by now going by the last urgent raven we had. The King's Hand, Jon Arryn, has died, and he needs Lord Stark's advice on who to choose to replace him."

Those words sent a cold chill up Ranma's spine. For some reason, something inside him was telling him that this was going to change everything. "I see, and how long do we have before he arrives?"

Halys laughed. "As I said, the last raven put him halfway to Cerwyn castle, which was several days past. You'll probably arrive quite a bit later than him, and you'll need to make your excuses for that. Your father, in his last message, said that he will be handing you over to your mother for 'proper chastisement'."

"But we never got the message!" Ranma said, a little panicky now. His father wasn't much of a disciplinarian unless the issue Ranma and the others were being disciplined for was physical. Then he very thoroughly shouted at them, raising his hands very rarely. In fact, the only time Ned had raised his hand was to Jon and Theon because one of their fights had occurred in the wine cellar and had ruined several hundred gold dragons worth of wine, including several bottles that had been laid down on the day of his younger sister's birth.

The lady Catelyn on the other hand… She made you think you were the smallest, stupidest boy in the world. She never raised her voice, she was simply very, very condescending. Ranma couldn't quite describe it, but it made him feel small, silly, and foolish. It was** never** fun.

"And since when has a mother ever been moved by such a logical argument?" Halys laughed, ignoring his wife's look of mock indignation. "You're in for it lads."

Theon groaned his head in his hands. "We are so dead. Your lady mother is going to skin us alive."

"She can't do that." Jon said shaking his head, pointedly not looking at Donella, who he had developed a childhood crush for years ago that he hadn't quite gotten over yet. "Flaying and skinning are both outlawed, remember. No she'll just cut out our tongues and pickle them."

Ranma shook his head at their antics but there was definitely very real fear there. "Not if we can get there fast enough."

"Lad, you're dreaming." Halys laughed. "The King is but four days away, at best, and it's the better part of two weeks journey from here to Winterfell even if you switch horses and ride as fast as you can."

"I aim to try it anyway, get those horses of yours out here, Lord Hornwood." he laughed, clapping the older man on the shoulder. "Your son will tell you what we ran into," he looked over at Daryn, who was looking rather relived at the need to stay and not having to face the Lady of Winterfell, "that'll give you all the information you need about our news."

"So you did run into something?" Donella asked looking between them while Halys cocked an eyebrow at his son.

Daryn nodded. "Yes, we did, which is why we convinced Greatjon to send half of his ready men to the wall. He's also sending out notes to all of his vassals, telling them to ready themselves to be called up at a moment's notice."

Halys' eyes widened and then he looked at his son through narrowed eyes. "That is grave news, what did you find to warrant such an action?" Behind him several stablemen had already pulled out horses, two for everyone continuing to Winterfell, exchanging their weary horses with fresh ones plus a remount. Hathan would remain here for a few days, allowing his own excellent mount to recover before heading back home to White Harbor to carry their news.

"The wildlings," Ranma said, nodding to toward Osha, who glared back at all the people sending glares her way, "seem to have found some new tricks and were able to get a pretty decent force around the Wall. Your son will tell you more, but for right now, we need to be on our way."

"Are you sure you want to take her with you?" Halys looked at the wild woman askance. "We could hold her here for a time then send her to Winterfell after the king leaves."

"No," Roger said quickly, "I'm to take her with me. My father might need more convincing after all then you or Lord Stark. He is most set in his ways and often doesn't believe anything he personally doesn't see."

"And hasn't had the opportunity to meet the young Lord Stark." Halys muttered to himself.

Ranma waved away the stable hand leading two horses toward him, telling him to hand the reins to Theon and Roger. "You're not seriously thinking of running the whole way are you?" Theon asked. "Even you can't keep up with horses galloping at full stride for that long."

The Stark heir chuckled. "We'll have to see about that, won't we? Let's go!" With that Ranma broke into a run, heading down the road that would take them toward Winterfell, eventually. And as the hours went on and Ranma continued to run keeping up with the galloping horses, Theon was forced to change his tune.

OOOOOOO

Far South of Winterfell, a raven sent by Catelyn had arrived and a woman who was called by many the Queen of Thorns was contemplating how to reply to the surprising missive.

"You can't be serious, grandmother! The North, it's so cold, so lifeless! More importantly, the North is the weakest realm in terms of money and men. Surely, there are better options!" The young girl who spoke thus was a true beauty, with long brown hair tied in a loose cascade that lay on one shoulder going down one side of her chest. She was currently dressed in an elaborate and extremely well-made gown of green, with rose highlights going down in two lines down her sides and on either sleeve. Her face was beautiful and her eyes were normally snapping with good humor, adding to a somewhat flirtatious air she put off. That humor was not visible at the moment, and she stared at her grandmother in shock.

"Enough of that, granddaughter. You will do as you're told!" The woman who spoke was short of stature, bent and wizened with age, and with a face best described as wrinkly. Yet she carried an air of authority, an intelligence that few could match, and her eyes were sharp and cold. This was a woman to command respect even from her own family and her name was Olenna Redwyne.

"I see no reason why my daughter should marry one of the Starks! After all, we've been pushing for marriage between her and Renly Baratheon, which would put us much closer to the throne!" Mace Tyrell was a forty something- man who had once been powerfully built, yet, was now trending to fat. Though his face was hard, there was something a little soft about the set of his eyes, about the way he stood. This was a man who despite his position as Steward of the Reach, arguably the largest and most powerful realm of Westeros, was used to following orders.

"I know." said Olenna, nodding her head. "I thought it a good idea at the time, yet we all know where Renly's real interests lie. Besides, mayhap Loras alone can be surety of our alliance." She barked a laugh and Margaery frowned slightly, but did not comment on the truth of the matter as Olenna went on. "Even so, it would have been a good match, yet things are happening in the realm, as you would know if you kept your eyes and ears open!"

Mace flushed under her gaze and she went on, speaking now as if she was talking to a rather small and idiotic child, which in her opinion she was. Mace had no political acumen at all, making him less than useless at anything beyond waving around his sword and bellowing threateningly. "John Arryn is dead. That means there is an opening for the most powerful position in the realm, one the King no doubt means to fill with Ned Stark. Now, let me tell you a thing or two about Ned Stark. He is honorable to a fault, straightforward, compassionate despite the Stark Stone Face of his, deadly with a blade and with an army. And **utterly** unprepared for life at court! He has not the skills necessary to survive there, where the most dangerous blades are the ones that are formed, not from steel, but from words and gold. Yet for all that, he is dogged and determined, and as long as he has the king's ear, which he always will, have no doubt of it, he can do quite a lot of damage to anyone who crosses him or the king. This might be enough to cause a shift in power from the growing reach of House Lannister. On top of that, Robert has always wanted to bond his house to that of the Starks, in memory of his dead love, more than anything else."

The old woman sneered, having many questions about the strength of that love, as well as whether or not Robert had ever been the sort or could become the sort to love a single woman. There were, perhaps, a dozen bastards born to the king, including one in the Vales who had been conceived during the time when Robert was affianced to Lyanna Stark.

She continued, pushing those thoughts away as unimportant. "Myrcella is too young, especially since Joffrey is not yet wedded. Yet, Joffrey is almost of an age with the oldest daughter of House Stark, which means the Starks will become even closer to the crown."

_And who knows, _she thought to herself,keeping this thought from her face with the ease of long practice, _with a father-in-law like Ned maybe Joffrey could possibly be made into something less of the disaster that I envision him to be in the future. Though, it__'__s not as if his father has been all that good a king, either. But Ned is a different matter entirely, if he can perhaps learn the rules of the political arena._

"Now think of it, we can wed our power to the Stark's growing power. Or," she said, smiling cunningly, "we may be able to show Joffrey and his mother at the very least that there are better options closer to home than Sansa Stark."

"You mean for me to go there and see if I can attract Joffrey?" Margaery pursed her lips distastefully. "There's been so many rumors about him grandmother, I'm not quite sure if that is any better an option for me."

"You will do what is best for the family." her grandmother growled and the younger woman backed away slightly. Yet, unlike her father in similar circumstances, she didn't look away, merely staring back at her grandmother. This earned her a slight nod of approval from the old woman, but Olenna went on inexorably. "Things are happening, the balance of power in the realm is shifting, and we need to be in a position to capitalize on it one way or another."

Both Mace and his daughter frowned, but nodded eventually and the woman turned to a table, with parchment and ink on it, to write the missive that her son would then copy and send off. She wondered whether or not Ned was ready to play the game of thrones, but in the end that hardly mattered. Olenna and her family were ready, and they would wring what they could from whatever advantage came their way.

OOOOOOO

Ned looked around at his somewhat depleted family, shaking his head. The missive from Hornwood had arrived a day ago, but even as fast as his son and the others with him could move he doubted that they would arrive in time. It was over a week's travel between here and Hornwood for a small group like that, and there was only so much you could do by continuing to move even at night unless you wanted to kill your horses. _And now it__'__s too late,_ he thought to himself rather irritably. While he had made the decision to let his wife handle chastising their sons and wayward ward, he also decided at that moment to put his own coins into the equation.

_How dare Ranma disobey me._ he thought to himself grimly. _ I told him not to go past the Last Hearth. And instead I find that they bypassed the Umber castle on their way up and went straight to the Wall, then went to house Umber__'__s seat after? _ To be fair, this alone wouldn't bother Ned, especially not given the news the raven returned with, if the King wasn't arriving within the next hour and his son and heir would not be here to greet him, a grave insult. Ned suddenly realized that someone who was here, was missing and he frowned. "Where is Arya?"

"She ran off, father." Sansa replied, shaking her head at her younger sister's stupidity. She also hoped that Arya wouldn't make their entire family look like bumpkins in front of the king and his family. She had heard lovely tales of how handsome the prince was and wanted to impress him if she could. To that end, she was wearing one of her best dresses, a black and blue dress lined with white fur, and her hair was done in an intricate twirl down her back. "She refused to get ready with the rest of us."

Bran suddenly laughed and pointed. Rickon, who was standing next to his older brother, grinned too, waving his hand wildly.

Marching across the open field of the courtyard was a very short soldier, and Ned shook his head. He moved over quickly, catching the young guard by the back of the shirt. "And where do you think you're going dressed like that young lady?"

Arya pouted at being caught but stared up at her father innocently. "I'm going to join the guard for the king's arrival father."

Ned reached down and took the helmet off his daughter's head, filching her spear in the same movement, though where Arya had come up with **that** was a mystery. "Do you think you can make this young lady presentable quickly, my love?" he said turning to his wife.

"I can certainly try." Catelyn said grimly taking her daughter sharply by the shoulder. "We will be having words young lady, whatever you might think, there is a time and place for such things, and this is not the time.

Aria quailed a little under her mother's gaze but stared back defiantly. She hated doing all this women's stuff, and without Ranma or Jon here, she had lost her closest allies in her ongoing war against them. Arya just couldn't understand why she couldn't be what she wanted to be, why she had to pretend to be this lady of the court or whatever, when she was anything but. Arya scowled further seeing her older sister's smirk of triumph.

However, she didn't have any chance of escape and not ten minutes later, she was back dressed in the dress that her mother had originally laid out for her. She stood at the end of the row of children scowling angrily, wondering where her big brothers were, and Theon as well. Though in truth, Arya wasn't as fond of him as she was of her brothers. Of course that made sense, since she was related to them and Theon really didn't make that much time for her.

Ned sighed sadly when an outrider he had sent out returned, telling them of the king's approach, and still there was no sign of his sons.

OOOOOOO

"Look, see there's Winterfell, and is that the king's party just coming into view? Who's the fat guy at the front? And you said we wouldn't make it!"

"Hate you so much right now! And that might be the king you're speaking of, worthless peace of sea jetsam! Actually, please, say that to his face, I would love to see you without your head at the moment."

"If I could feel my legs I would kick you! And if my thighs never recover I'm going to curse you!"

From the back of another horse there was only the sound of snoring while the two women in their party were awake, yet far too tired to join in. Osha had thought she was tough, the veteran of many battles and a life spent in the wilds of beyond the Wall. But the pace they had set after leaving Hornwood had beaten her thighs and back to mush.

Ranma, for it was indeed he who had spoken first, laughed at Theon and Jon's words. "Ha! Listen, I'm going on ahead, you all keep moving, but no offense but my own presence is going to be much more sorely missed if I'm not there than any of you." Ignoring their gaping faces Ranma leaned down, picking up Fenris who had been running with him for the last full day. Then with a final wave of his hand, he sped up, leaving his friends and brother behind with their almost exhausted horses.

OOOOOOO

Ten minutes later, not a minute after the watchers on the wall had spotted him, Ranma charged through the Hunter's Gate, dropping off Fenris in the kennels with Hodor, the gentle giant that was one of the castle's better stable hands. After exiting the kennels out into the courtyard, Ranma skidded to a halt as he saw the group already prepared and waiting for the King.

Catelyn and Eddard were both staring at him, their faces showing something of an inner turmoil. They were happy to see him of course, but his timing was horrible. He looked as if he hadn't shaved or bathed in months and was altogether rather scraggly, in no way ready to see the king. His younger siblings, of course, had no such qualms, and were simply smiling at him in welcome, happy to see him after nearly three months, with only Sansa seeming at all dismayed about his appearance.

Ranma quickly ran up to them and said, "Mother, father, do I have time to…"

"Barely." Ned said sharply. "I'm not even certain how you got here, it's nearly two weeks from Hornwood to here even with remounts."

Ranma shrugged. "I ran, the others galloped and they all had remounts. We didn't stop. They even strapped themselves to their saddles when they were in danger of falling asleep and we kept going every night. I left them about fifty minutes ago."

Ned nodded. "After we have given our greetings, I will send a group of guards out to escort them in. And we will be talking later."

"Yes, father, we will."

Something in their son's tone made both his parents look at him sharply, and Ned looked at him with one eyebrow raised, wondering if more was going on than what the raven carried message had told him. But Ranma merely nodded his head firmly and Ned sighed. "For now, run and get a shave and clean clothing, one of the servants will prepare both for you." Indeed two servants had already broken off from the crowd of them waiting outside the keep and hurried inside.

Ranma nodded, racing over and hugging Arya and his younger brothers before winking at Sansa. "I'd hug you too dear sister, but I'm afraid I'd get your nice dress all sweaty."

Sansa scoffed at him, not liking how wild looking Ranma seemed at the moment. "After you take a bath, **maybe **I will deign to allow you to give me a hug."

At that, Ranma chuckled and ran inside leaving the two parents to stare at one another. "Well," Ned said, a little weakly, "he's here at least." Catelyn rolled her eyes, but ten minutes later their son was back, just in time to slip into the line again. Now shaved, clean looking, and dressed in good leathers, a white jerkin, and dark grey coat lined with wolf's fur. He exchanged a quick hug with Sansa, now that he was clean, ruffling his two brothers' hair fondly before standing at attention next to his parents.

OOOOOOO

Queen Cersei Lannister hated the North. She hated its ruggedness, she hated the trees, she hated the fact that it snowed here even in the summer. She hated the people, rustic idiotic peasants, the lot of them. She hated the roads; despite the comfort of her specially made carriage, the trip was hideously uncomfortable without nearly enough creature comforts. And above all, she hated the Starks. Too cold by far, too honorable, too stupid! Moreover, every time she heard that name Cersei was reminded of why her husband never truly loved her, never committed fully to their marriage. No, he was more in love with a dead woman than her. _Well I__'__ve had my revenge there._

She looked across at her children, all of them hers and none of them Robert's, smirking internally. No one seemed to be able to see the truth right in front of them, the truth being so terrible, and in the end Jon Arryn was the only one to realize anything. He was dead now, and hopefully with him, the chance of anyone discovering the truth about her children.

Myrcella glanced at her mother looking at her older brother and shuddered a little. She was a very bright young girl of ten, one had to be in the court after all, and over the last year she had begun to see things in her older brother that she hadn't noticed before, especially given the way he treated her and Tommen. She winced a little as the carriage went over a bump aggravating her badly bruised ankle. But she kept the expression off her face, not wanting to let on that Joffrey had hurt her stamping on her ankle like this morning when no one was looking. He had begun to do things like that, hurting her and Tommen in small ways whenever he could get away with it.

Yet, she knew nothing would come of complaining to either parent. The king wouldn't care, their father spent as little time with any of them as he could. And the queen was even worse.

He might not have meant to do it, after all, or at least that's what their mother would say, just children playing. Their mother always took Joffrey's side over everything. Joffrey was the golden boy, the heir to the throne and thus more important than either Tommen or Myrcella.

Soon enough they were in sight of Winterfell and she stuck her head out the window despite her mother's hissed injunction to act appropriate to their station, and looked at the castle.

There was something **solid **about Winterfell. It was big, larger than the Red Keep she thought, and there was nothing about its exterior that hinted at anything but it's simple purpose, defending those within. Yet even so, there was something majestic about the sight, coming out of the mist, situated there among the hills and forests like it had always been there, simply a part of the landscape.

From the head of the column of one hundred forty men-at-arms and sixty five servants, Robert laughed. "Winterfell!" he roared out, laughing, "by the Seven, it's been too long."

OOOOOOO

Not five minutes after Ranma joined them, Robert descended from his horse with difficulty and Ned took a moment to examine his friend, sighing internally as he saw what the years had done to him. Where before he had been a heavy, muscular man, now Robert was simply heavy. He still looked somewhat muscular, but his beer belly was huge, sticking out over his waistline by a wide margin. His eyes were bleary from drink, his hands looked slightly palsied, and his good tunic, possibly made specially to make him look less fat, was dotted with wine stains.

In stark contrast, the Queen, as she got out of the carriage, looked as if time had not affected her at all from the last glimpse of her Ned had seen. Cersei's blonde hair fell in waves down her back and her dress was magnificently embroidered, all in white of course, as well as the white pelt of some animal or another on her shoulders and back for warmth here in the North.

He turned back to the King as Robert walked up to him Ned bowed formally. "Your grace, Winterfell is yours."

Robert looked at his old friend and said bluntly, "You've gotten fat."

At Ned's back his wife and children looked a little shocked as did members of the king's party. But Ned merely looked the King up and down, one eyebrow interrogatively. Robert laughed, then the two men hugged like brothers, clapping one another on the back.

Ranma rolled his eyes, but inside he was thinking, _This is the King?_ He was not impressed. Ranma hadn't been impressed by much he had learned about Robert Baratheon, certainly not after Robert had taken the throne at any rate. He really wasn't much of a King. The tales that reached the North told nothing about what he truly did as a king other than putting down the Greyjoy rebellion. All they spoke of was his drinking and whoring. To Ranma, raised as a martial artist and steeped in the Code, then raised as a Stark and knowing his duty to family and those who looked to him for protection, this was not what a king should be known for. Where were the new laws, new public works, hell, new taxes? But no, Robert Baratheon, the man who had led the successful rebellion against the Targaryen Mad King, was not known for anything but his drinking, whoring, and past glories.

"My Lord," Ned said after releasing the King from their hug, "My children and my wife Catelyn."

"Cat," Robert said pulling her into a hug.

Catelyn returned it demurely. Ned turned and said "And these are my sons, my heir Ranma, Bran, and Rickon and my daughters Sansa and Arya."

Robert grunted at them all, giving a cursory glance to the daughters though his eyes seemed to linger on Arya for a moment before he shook it off. "Where is she?" he said, "It's been years and I want to pay my respects."

Ned understood immediately. "Lyanna is in the crypt of course, where she wanted to be. But that can wait."

"No, now." Robert growled.

The Queen came forward. "Husband, surely this can wait until we're all settled in, it's been a fatiguing journey and…"

Robert turned to Cersei and gave her a glare which shut her up quickly, then turned and moved away. "Now, Ned!"

Ranma's father shrugged apologetically at the Queen and went off after his friend.

As soon as the pair was gone, Catelyn moved to step forward, but Ranma shook his head, speaking before she could. "And that is our king? My deepest sympathies, milady." He said, bowing from the waist towards the Queen.

"Ranma!" Catelyn scowled, horrified by the lack of respect. "You cannot speak of the king like that!"

Ranma shrugged. "I don't turn a blind eye to what I see, mother." He looked past the queen when he saw the children getting out of the carriage. The oldest, with short blond hair, green eyes set into what Ranma would call a WT (weak type) bishounen face with a small pouty sort of mouth, was the first to get out during the king's greeting. He had been looking around somewhat disdainfully, but seemed to have schooled his expression and was now studying the Starks, or possibly just one of them, with interest. The little boy, who had the same blonde hair and same hair style as the older boy, was looking around with great interest, especially at the array of five direwolf puppies arrayed with the Stark children. Fenris had since rejoined the others after having had his own, admittedly rather splashy bath (hence why Hodor was the one Ranma had left him with).

The middle one and the only daughter had honey gold hair done in twin braids going down her chest, and was wearing a dress much like the queen's, white with highlights. Though in the princess's case, the highlights were Baratheon black rather than Lannister red. She was a very pretty young girl, with a face and developing figure that hinted she would someday rival her mother in beauty, though her face had yet to develop the lines or regal coldness that Cersei exuded.

That wasn't what had caught Ranma's attention however; what had was the wince Myrcella couldn't quite hide as she stepped off the carriage's small step onto the ground. "I think however that the young lady should be taken to see the maester. She seems to be favoring one of her ankles."

The Queen turned sharply, her shock at a Stark of all people speaking so about the king overridden for the moment and saw that her daughter was indeed favoring one of her feet as she stood there.

The young princess watched in surprise as the young Lord of the castle came bounding towards her, so fast it took several of the White Cloaks aback. Ser Selmy, the White Cloaks commander, blinked in shock at how fluid and quick the boy was while several of his fellows made to grab him but were too slow.

Myrcella didn't notice that, blushing more than a little at the older boy's good looks. Stark cheekbones framing a thin and handsome face, with hair swept back into a long pony tail and deep Tully blue eyes which were sparkling with humor at the moment. She squeaked a little when, before Ser Arys Oakheart, the Kingsguard assigned to her, could intercede, Ranma had lifted her into the air, perching Myrcella on his shoulder without even rumpling her dress somehow. Before any of the guardsmen around her or her mother could take Ranma to task for his lack of courtesy, Ranma asked, "And how exactly did you hurt yourself?"

She gulped a little, swiftly looking at her mother and Joffrey before answering. "O-on one of our stops I-I tripped, getting out of the carriage and twisted my ankle. I, I didn't want to make a fuss…"

Hearing that the mother in Cersei rose up over the queen's indignation and she shook her head sternly at her daughter. "You should've said something, sweetling." Cersei looked askance at the young man who was holding her daughter on his shoulder, as if Myrcella weighed next to nothing ,and then looked over at Catelyn, having lost her forward momentum for a moment.

Catelyn frowned a little but eventually just gave in. Her son was not one to waste time on courtly manners and decorum. She had been trying for years to change that and failed. She wasn't about to suddenly succeed in the next five minutes. "Ranma," she sighed, "yes, you can show the young lady to the infirmary, I'll be showing the Queen and the rest of her party to her rooms. Our servants will see to your ladies and men."

The Queen nodded and Catelyn turned to Sansa who had been almost blatantly staring at Joffrey, a blush on her pretty face which so looked like Catelyn's own. "Sansa, could you go with your brother and princess Myrcella? I'm sure that the Princess would prefer to have another lady around, even for so short a time, in an unfamiliar place like this."

Myrcella looked down at Tommen, who was staring up at where she was perched and said, "Don't worry, Tommen, I'll be right back."

"You can both come," Ranma said, shrugging. Without dislodging Myrcella, Ranma then knelt down and picked up Tommen setting him on his other shoulder. "I carry my siblings like this all the time, anyway."

The two younger Royal siblings looked at one another in shock and amusement, they had never before run into someone who treated them like this. It was a little weird, but also rather fun and it was about to get a little better. Joffrey on the other hand, carefully hid a sneer of amusement at someone volunteering to be a beast of burden like that. This went unnoticed, however, as Ranma said "Perhaps I can tell you both a story as we go?"

"Oh," Sansa clapped her hands together, her irritation at leaving before she could speak to the prince, disappearing, "do you have a new one about why you were so late getting back? You were supposed to be back weeks ago!" At the word 'story' both his younger brothers raced over to Ranma as well.

"That is indeed a tale, dear sister." he said, reaching down and taking her hand. "Yet, it is a tale of derring-do that I'm afraid Arya would prefer to you, though possibly I could revisit some of the tales I told you when you are younger. I doubt you remember them very well."

The chattering of the children receded and Catelyn turned to the Queen. "I'll show you to your quarters."

The Queen, still extremely nonplussed by he young man had forcefully kept the proceeding informal, simply nodded and followed along. Around her Jamie and the Kingsguard were left shaking their head save for Oakheart who moved swiftly after his young charge. Joffrey however merely sneered at the other young man being so concerned about children rather than the royal prince and turned away, thinking however that the older Stark girl was rather attractive…

Arya was about to go after them when she paused, frowning and looking around. "Where's the Imp? I've heard about him, but I don't see him here?"

That question about her freak of a brother was actually just what Cersei needed to get her brain rebooted from the surprise of Ranma acting so informally with her children. She looked around, scowling angrily. "Where is that little nuisance? Probably in the nearest brothel, I'll wager. Jaime, could you go and retrieve him?"

Jaime Lannister was a good looking man in his late twenties, with long dirty blond hair down to his shoulders; a very small, well-trimmed mustache; and the green eyes of all Lannisters in a face set into a permanent smirk. "I will take on this most arduous duty, dear sister. It wouldn't be the first time after all."

Cersei smiled at her twin, relishing the secret they shared for a moment before turning back to their hostess, her mask of hauteur falling into place easily. Catelyn smiled tightly at her and led the way inside the keep.

OOOOOOO

An hour later found Ranma sitting in the middle of the maester's sickroom, telling his younger siblings, a few friends, and their guests a story. Myrcella's ankle had been wrapped with gauze and she was sitting up in one of the beds, a large pack of snow on it. At the foot of the bed sat Sansa with Lady, her very well-mannered direwolf pup between them, being scratched behind her ears by both girls . Arya and his other siblings sat on the ground with Tommen and the other direwolf pups all in a jumble, something that the young prince had been a little leery of, but seemed to enjoy. Luckily his mother wasn't here, or his enjoyment would have been short-lived indeed.

"With that statement, the pigtailed hero realized that the curse on his hair was all in his mind! After all, he was still a young man, not bald like his father. So he had no need for the cursed item to keep his hair! With that knowledge, he grabbed the massive lengths of hair that had sprung from his head, and began to use them as weapons, like so many ropes and whips in his hands. He flicked his hair weapons through the air, grabbing his beloved out of her kidnapper's hands and swiftly bringing her to his side before tying up the four bald attackers in his hair from the ankles up to their necks."

Ranma's audience laughed and giggled at the tale he was spinning, never realizing that it had actually happened to him in his past life, except for the 'beloved' part. Though at the time, Ranma would have been hard pressed to tell you yea or nay on that, looking back on it Ranma knew he hadn't really loved Akane, been infatuated with maybe, but not love.

"And then, the hero of our tale finished tying up his enemies. After that the hero put all four of them on a boat to a distant land. After that he returned to his lady's house, wondering when the next challenge would occur." As the children cheered, he nodded at the servant in the doorway. "Can I help you?"

"Lord," the servant bowed his head, "your father requests your presence in his study."

Ranma nodded and reached over to pat Rickon on the head where he had been sitting right across from his older brother. "With that children, I will see you all later this evening for the feast. I understand it is expected."

The children all thanked him for the story then began chattering excitedly amongst themselves about the story. Even Sansa and Jeyne Poole, who had heard the same tale when they were younger, had enjoyed this retelling.

He exited the room, smiling slightly at the smiling Kingsguard standing at the door and the maid Cersei had assigned to her daughter. The maid curtseyed, bowing forward to give Ranma a very good glimpse down her bosom, blushing as she stared avidly at the handsome young lord. "A most lively tale, Lord."

Ranma shrugged. "I have a very good imagination for some reason, and my siblings have always seemed to enjoy it."

The woman looked at him and smiled but before she could follow up he bowed again, leaving quickly, and she clicked her fingers. She had only been here a few hours but already she had heard many strange tales, wonderful tales in many ways of the Young Wolf and his amazing endurance. She was eager to see if that endurance carried over into other things, and that line had given her on almost perfect opening.

The servant who had come to fetch Ranma hurried after him, smiling a little at the way he had ignored the girl's attempt at flirting. Whether or not there was any truth to his and the lady Mormont stepping out together, the young master was amazingly adept at ignoring or simply not responding to the come-ons of women.

Ranma found his father in his study, writing something down, and Ranma noticed it had a lot of numbers on it. He figured it was probably a bill of some kind for the food necessary for the king's stay.

Ned looked up as his son entered and smiled at him. "Jon has returned along with Theon, Roger, and the Lady Dacey. They filled me in on what you saw." he said his voice becoming much grimmer. "I'm not certain if I agree with you that the White Walkers are back, but I do know that there is something brewing beyond the Wall, a threat that must be faced, which wields magic long unseen."

He looked hard at his son with a grim smile, not having liked much of what he had heard, yet, still proud of how both his sons had acted. "Jon gave me an almost blow by blow account of the battle. Including how Hathan Snow saved your life." Ranma might have mixed feelings about that, but he wasn't about to speak up, after all, it might well have been true. "I was thinking of this as an appropriate reward for that."

Eddard picked up a piece of parchment from his desk and handed it over across to his son. Ranma looked down and read it swiftly. "therefore in recognition of service to the heir of our house, we, House Stark, cede the holdfast of Eastshield to Hathan Snow, now given the name Shieldarm, to be held by him and his family in perpetuity…" Ranma looked up and smiled widely at his father. "You're giving him a holdfast and a minor title? That's fantastic father, and I think he'll do well as a landed noble. Eastshield, though, is that one of the holdfasts in the wolfswood?"

"It is, on the outer edge toward Torrhen's Square. The land has been reclaimed by the forest, but the holdfast's walls are still there and it is still a strong defensive position, once you reduce the woods around it. It will not be a sinecure to be certain, but with the title and the holdfast will come several smallfolk families and money to entice a few men at arms to his land. It will be up to Hathan to choose them, of course, and to keep their loyalty."

Ranma nodded, smiling happily as he envisioned his older friend's reaction to the news. Ned raised the paper he was currently working on and Ranma saw it was a numbers tally of men-at-arms. "I've been working out how many people we can send and still have a goodly force here, both ourselves and our vassals. I make it over twelve hundred we can send from our own lands without pulling too many men from the fields or from the workshops and still have a force large enough to patrol our lands and guard Winterfell."

"You'll send them after the King and his party leave, of course, father?"

"Of course," Ned replied, then changed the subject suddenly. "I understand that you are not exactly enthralled with the King?"

"If you mean I think he's a drunkard then you're correct, father," Ranma said now sitting down across from Ned at one of the chairs in front of his desk. "You did not see the look that passed between him and the Queen? That's a look I wouldn't give my worst enemy."

"Their marriage is not one of love that is true." Ned said diplomatically. "Robert was still grieving for my sister, but he had to do something to appease the Lannisters, who had control of King's Landing and an army almost as large as Roberts own, but well rested and well provisioned."

"I understand that, but in all this time he hasn't learned how to, at the very least, not show his contempt of her? He basically rubbed it into the Queen's face that he doesn't care for her opinion!"

"I know what you are saying, but Robert was always one who loved fiercely. My sister was possibly the only woman in all of Westeros that could have made him leave over his womanizing ways and, since then, he's always been pining after her memory. And regardless of what you think, he is the king, and you will respect him as such."

Ranma bit back a sharp retort, merely nodding. "Will you inform him of what we saw?"

"Of course not." Ned scoffed. "Robert might give lip service to the faith of the Seven, but he isn't religious and he's not someone who'd understand something like that without seeing it himself. I'll bring up the idea of sending more men to the Wall, but I doubt even the idea of there being a new King Beyond the Wall will be believed by the others in his court. The best I can hope for, is to get him interested enough to head to the Wall himself to speak to Commander Mormont and my brother in person."

Ned went on, now looking at his son with shrewd compassion. "I also understand you lost people, the two Norrey clan scouts that met you on the edge of their territory?"

Ranma nodded grimly, looking down. "I, I've dealt with the guilt about losing people, father. It, it took me a while, but I think the worst part about it was that I was so happy it was the two of them dying and not any of my friends."

"That is a natural human reaction, Ranma." Ned replied, smiling a little sadly at his oldest son. In many ways, Ranma had been forced to grow up far faster than the father in Eddard, Stark or no, could have wanted. _ First the whole Bolton incident, and now this, what do the old gods have in store for you, my son?_ "We care for our friends more than we should when they are also our soldiers. It is our duty to not show favoritism in combat or other situations. And," Ned went on more grimly, "not to let grief or anger at the passing of a friend or loved one cloud our judgment."

Ranma nodded his understanding and the two sat there in companionable silence for a moment as Eddard let his son assimilate his words then he went on more briskly. "Your mother has been told you ran into a sizable force of wildlings in the Gift and our suppositions about a threat growing from that corner. She doesn't believe it, however, we don't have enough proof and it's been too long since the wildlings were a real threat."

He waved his son around the desk. "Now, I think if we both work on this we can get it done quickly, if you take House Mormont and the others from the west I will take everything east of Winterfell, and we can figure out how many each house can spare without weakening their own territories defense or harming their economy."

Ranma nodded but added a word of caution. "I also told Greatjon to send supplies up with his men, as well as people to take over the remaining farms and villages in the Gift. As far as we could tell it was practically empty, father."

Ned sighed. "We'll send up some villagers from here, I know of several married pairs that want new land, and I believe House Cerwyn and House Flint of Flint's Finger have a similar issue. The Gift will most certainly be colder and harsher, but much of the territory up there is actually arable land and it is much easier to put a house in working order than build your own and carve out a farm from the wolfswood."

His son nodded in reply but had a question. "Will Roger and Osha be staying with us for a time or will you send them on to the Rills after Roger recovers?"

Ned looked at his son with fond pride. The connections and friendships his son had forged among the heirs of the noble houses of the North were a sight to see, and he took pleasure in particular in seeing the connection between House Ryswell and House Stark started by himself and Mark Ryswell continued. "He'll stay for the king's visit. An heir of a house leaving when the King is in attendance would be seen as an insult save for truly pressing business elsewhere. Roger is right however; his father will need some more convincing of the danger."

"Though I would caution you when you go over the numbers for the Ryswell lands to be cautious in how many men you ask them to send. House Ryswell is the strong arm in the southeast; the Rills, the Barrowlands, and the Stony Shore look to Dustin and Ryswell over the other houses and unfortunately House Dustin doesn't have the men and numbers it once had." That was made worse by the fact that the Lady Dustin had never remarried after her husband had died in the final days of Robert's Rebellion.

Ranma nodded and the two of them set to work quietly for the rest of the afternoon before breaking off to prepare for the feast that evening.

OOOOOOO

Reactions to the very odd young man that was the heir of Winterfell were varied among the King's party. Robert didn't think one way or the other about him, he had been completely concentrated on paying his respects to his lost love. Cersei was oddly ambivalent; the Queen was irritated at his lack of propriety or any kind of deference to her rank or her children's rank, but at the same time somewhat amused at his obvious distaste for Robert. Of course, she was also irritated that he treated her children like children rather than princess and prince, yet at the same time he had noticed Myrcella was injured, something Cersei had missed. So all in all, Cersei was waiting to see how he and Joffrey got along before painting him with the same disdain and hate she had for the rest of his family: the wild little female, the stupid pumpkin children, the idiotic Catelyn, and the all too cold and stiff Eddard.

Joffrey thought him an idiot, and was more than a little irritated that the other boy didn't even try to talk or even acknowledge him outside of a nod of welcome (which Joffrey answered with a small nearly imperceptible sneer that Ranma had caught and filed away). Myrcella and Tommen both thought he was magnificent and a fantastic storyteller. Myrcella, for one, was sad that her own big brother didn't act anywhere near as kindly to her.

It was in the White Cloaks however where the decision on Ranma was most sharply divided. "He's an idiot!" Boros Blount, a heavyset ugly man with a mind quicker in politics than the sword, spoke up first as they made themselves at home in the barracks room set aside for them. "Did you see how he acted, he showed no care for the station of the Queen or the King. It's as if he has no sense of propriety or decorum, or the fact that either one of them could have his head for the asking!"

"That would be folly of the highest order," Jamie said looking up from where he was stowing his gear alongside his bed. "And is that what you really think? Something about him is telling me that he is much more dangerous than he appears."

"Oh, please." said Preston Greenfield, one of the Queen's appointments to the Kingsguard. "The boy is an utter idiot, like Boros said. You can't honestly think that those stories we've heard since entering the North are true? They're but bard's tales, if any were true, they would have made it past the Neck in more than bard's tales."

Jaime shrugged, something was bothering him about Ranma, the way the Stark heir moved, how fluid he was reminded him of a Braavosi water dancer, yet not quite. There was something more there, something that reminded him of someone else, though for the life of him he couldn't bring the memory to the fore.

Arys shrugged his shoulders, keeping his own council, along with Ser Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant. Meryn was not one to give his opinion lightly, while Mandon was silent as a matter of course.

While his so-called brothers discussed the young man of the house, Ser Barristan Selmy sat as memories of years gone by played through his head. They were of a better time, a brighter time. When the White Cloaks weren't a paper shield, when they truly were the best swords in the land rather than the bought swords they were today. Only Jaime was truly worthy of the cloak in terms of skill, but outside of skill he should never have been allowed to retain the White after betraying his oath whatever the reason. Selmy could cut the others down with ease, and some days he was tempted to do just that despite his own oaths.

But right now he was filled with memories of his past, comparing them to the young man they had seen earlier today and smiling to himself in wonder. _Ser Arthur Dayne moved like that, that fluid motion, his body under total control, that confidence, only young Stark moves even more fluidly, even more confidently. I must talk to this young man, he is interesting. Possibly the type we need so desperately amongst our company. And while it might cause problems with House Stark, it isn__'__t like Ned doesn__'__t have other children who could step up and become his heir__…_

OOOOOOO

Later that evening, as was his duty, Ned broached the subject of the threat rising beyond the Wall with the king and the few advisers he had brought to Winterfell with him. Of course, he didn't speak of the White Walkers or anything else he couldn't truly prove, but what he could share was more than enough to come under fire.

"You cannot be serious, you expect us to believe that? The wildlings have not been a real threat for thousands of years!" the Queen scoffed. She was not normally part of the king's council, but since there were so few members of said council here, she had pushed herself into the conversation.

Robert glowered at her and she glared back for a moment before Robert turned away. "Unlike this one," he said, jerking a thumb at the Queen, "I've never known you to tell me anything that you couldn't prove Ned, so I believe you."

"But this isn't Lord Stark, is it?" said Varys, looking at Lord Stark apologetically, though if that emotion was real was more than anyone there could say, the eunuch was a past master at showing only what he wanted people to see. "This is your son. While I can fully understand the young boy overreacting after his first taste of combat adrenaline and concern for comrades can make a man count every enemy twice. If the wildlings have found a way to get sufficient numbers around the Wall, then surely their predations on the North of your lands would be even worse? Has there been a marked increase in raids?"

"There has not," Eddard said, "at least, not to the best of my knowledge. But there is no doubt the Gift has suffered heavily from their predations given how empty my son and his friends reported it was. If their goal was to weaken the Wall, then taking out its logistic support was much more important than raiding the mountain clans or House Umber. And this was not my son's first battle, he has fought and killed before, do not try to denigrate his abilities, Spider."

"Yet even so, I know that you have more experience, more historical records to call upon when talking about how to read the intentions of the wildlings, but that sort of thinking is well beyond anything I have ever read the wildlings exhibiting before." Varys said, staring at Stark, his voice sly and probing.

"Not if there is a King Beyond the Wall behind it." Eddard responded, looking at the eunuch with scant favor yet keen eyes. Ned knew that the Master of Whisperers was a dangerously bright 'man' but had never had dealings with him before. Robert had yet to explain why he was here at all, but regardless, Ned knew not to trust him.

"And as the Queen said, there hasn't been a King Beyond the Wall in hundreds of years," Varys reposted. "And the wildlings have never been known for subtlety even when one piper is able to get all the rats moving together." The eunuch's fat jowls twisted into a smile at his own clever turn of phrase.

"Even if they can get small groups around the Wall, they need to go through it to get any forces large enough to truly threaten the North and the Wall is inviolate." Ser Selmy stated, there to provide a military perspective. While he was willing to believe Lord Stark about what could be brewing, he didn't see why the problem was so important.

"The Wall needs help," Ned's answer rang sharply. He looked over at the King. "The Night Watch's fighting strength is at the lowest ebb it has ever been in recorded history and the Gift is too unpopulated to provide for it. I'm going to send men north to the Wall. Half of my house's men at arms and an equal fraction of my vassals men as well, and I'm sending the call out to all the other Lords of the North."

Robert frowned. This sounded exciting and it had been a very long time indeed since anything really exciting had happened to him outside of bedding a new wench or three. He could feel his heart pounding, rather too quickly it must be said, and his blood flowing again. This was just what he needed, a chance to ride out, to go to war again. _I was not made for the crown_ Robert thought, not for the first time or even the ten thousandth time. _ Jon Arryn or Ned should've taken the crown instead of me. I am made for war. This is what I was made for._

Yet before he could speak, Varys spoke up again. "Again my Lord, I'm not saying you shouldn't. But this seems like a purely local affair. We have no proof that there is a King Beyond the Wall rising again. We have no proof of anything unusual save a surprising number of wildling raiders and one wildling woman's word. It's not enough evidence for us to rouse the kingdom. We must have proof before we pay to put armies on the march, to pay for the food and other necessary supplies."

Robert was about to bellow something about penny-pushers not being generals when Cersei interjected her own view. "And besides husband, remember what we heard before from our sources about Targaryen loyalists making noises of rebellion in Highgarden, the Crown lands, and even Dorne. Something has stirred them up. That is the entire reason Varys is with us, after all."

Cersei had used the magic words 'Targaryen loyalists' and completely derailed Robert's attention, much like waving a red flag in front of a bull. _ By the Seven, I sacrificed too much to take the throne, I__'__ll be damned if any fucking lizard supporters gain any head way at all! _Robert glared at his Queen then over at his old friend. "They're right Ned. I know you don't like it, I don't like it either. But your son didn't bring back enough proof for us to act on it."

Ned nodded. "I honestly hadn't thought I'd get you to agree, but it was my duty to inform you of what might be a threat to the realm, and what steps I have taken to solve it."

Varys looked a little dubious for a moment, though the fact he let the emotion be seen at all meant it was probably false. In truth, the eunuch was concerned about the changes he had seen so far in the North and, despite the fact that most of those changes, on the surface, seemed to be good things for the North, did that translate to being good for the whole kingdom? Change of any sort could disturb the delicate balance of power, which was already in turmoil due to Jon Arryn's sudden demise.

"Now that that's settled," Robert said, looking around at the others, "leave us."

The Queen and his spymaster left then, with the spymaster going to work immediately on the real reason he had come to the North: setting up a spy network in the North. Of all the realms it was the realm he had least coverage in, which had heretofore been acceptable since the North was also the most loyal realm to the current king. But there had been so many odd tales coming south and the upheaval years back about the destruction and disavowal of House Bolton, that it was obvious he needed some of his little birds here to see if anything was brewing that might threaten the good of the realm, of course.

With the two irritants gone, Robert turned back to Ned. "Bah, good riddance, necessary evils the both of them, don't mean I have to like 'em. Anyway, you ran off to talk to your son before we had a chance to really talk after I paid my respects, Ned."

Ned chuckled. "My wife and I have developed a rather twitchy feeling whenever our son leaves our sight, and with good reason apparently."

"Yes, that crap with the Boltons. Heard you killed the old leech yourself, would have loved to see that! Man was too cold and bloodless by half! We heard about that, though we only heard that your son was captured. Then we started to hear a tale of him actually fighting his way out, once we hit the inns past Moat Cailin, any truth to that?"

"He did fight yes, as I said earlier to Varys," Ned replied, not willing to give any details about what had really happened there.

"Brave lad." Robert nodded. "Your wolf blood is strong in him I see? And were those direwolves I saw with your children?"

Ned shrugged. "They are the totem of my house, we found them as we were coming back from one of my holdfasts. They can be trained you know, in fact they are already very well-trained for their age."

Robert barked a laugh. "Just keep them away from my wife. She hates dogs of all sorts. Except for the two legged kind, I suppose, else she would never have assigned the Hound as my oldest brat's defender." He guffawed again and then looked at his friend seriously. "You know why I'm here Ned. I need your help. With Jon Arryn dead, I need a new King's Hand, and I want you to be that man."

Ned was silent for a moment. This was what he had secretly feared, but as he had told his wife, this was a matter of duty. "Your grace I am honored, what else can I say?"

"Say you'll accept." the king said bluntly. "I need someone to run the kingdom while I am off drinking and whoring, after all!"

"With that lofty a goal in mind how can I refuse?" His friend replied smiling slightly.

"Then don't refuse." Robert said laughing again and clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll even sweeten the deal, we can still unite our houses you know, just like we always dreamed of doing. Your young girl Sansa seems much taken with my oldest brat. Think about it, the stags and direwolves united at last."

"We'll see." Ned said slowly. "I would prefer to watch the two of them together for a time before making a final decision. After all looks aren't everything, there must be something else there as well."

"That's the spirit!" Robert said clapping him on the shoulder again. "Now, where do you keep the wine?"

OOOOOOO

That evening, everyone congregated them main Hall for a feast, save for Ranma and Jon. Catelyn found the two of them in Jon's room and Ranma was giving Jon something from the maester. "That'll help with your legs, you stupid bugger." Ranma said clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Though you'll have to apply it yourself. I'm not touching your hairy legs for love or gold."

John looked up at him wearily. "Hate you," he said slowly, "hate you so much."

"That'll teach you to try and pace me on foot." Ranma said laughing a little. "It's not my fault you tried to run with me." That was actually what happened. Jon had tried to give his remounts a rest and ran beside Ranma for a time with Ghost. Ghost lasted three hours, a very respectable time at the speed they were going and his age. Jon lasted five hours before he too had to give up, his legs burning and sore. Fenris had lasted nine hours, before Ranma had to pick him up the first time, and seemed to get a little stronger each time after that.

"Ahem," said Catelyn, coughing a little to announce her presence. "Jon, I realize you're still injured so don't let this son of mine bother you. There was a time when he couldn't have kept up with himself, either." She tapped her head gently signaling what she meant, and Jon stifled a chuckle as Ranma pouted outrageously. "Unfortunately, you know I couldn't have allowed you to come tonight, anyway." Catelyn went on apologetically. "The Queen has views on bastard children, I'm afraid, and they are not like your father's."

"With a husband like that, I don't blame her." Ranma muttered.

"Yes, well." Catelyn said, not really willing to protect the king's whoring and drinking, but not willing to speak against him either.

Jon merely looked grim. "I just hope none of them have delusions of grandeur. I would like the last war to be the last civil war Westeros ever fights." He shared a glance with Ranma. "We've got other problems brewing."

With that Ranma and his mother walked out. Catelyn looked at her son. "I expect you to be on your best behavior." she said firmly leaning forward and grasping his chin with one hand making certain she was looking into his eyes. "While the King's younger children seem to have welcomed the way you act, it is still not the way you comport yourself around royalty. You got away with it once, do **not** push it. And I can understand that you have rather ambivalent feelings towards your King, but remember he is the** King**. You must respect the office and Robert's past, if nothing else."

Ranma took a deep breath and gently reached out pulling his mother into a hug, breaking her hold on his chin. "I'll try okay? I just don't like the look he sent at the Queen. She's also a cold fish sort of person too, but she doesn't deserve that."

"He is the King," she reiterated, but did not move out of her son's hug. "And you must respect the office. Do you understand me?"

"If I realize I can't keep my tongue anymore, will I have leave to excuse myself?"

By this time they had reached the family's personal quarters. "After the music for dancing has begun yes you may leave."

Ranma nodded. "Then you have my word I won't say anything to him."

Later that evening Ranma sat next to his father, and they stood respectfully as the King and his family entered. After Ned gave a brief speech in honor of the King, they all sat down again, the food was brought in, and the feast began. For about forty minutes, it was a convivial atmosphere, if a little stilted, and Theon and Ranma were talking quietly to one another, answering questions from the adults when asked. Robert was in particular was plying Ranma with questions about his experience as a prisoner of House Bolton and asked Ranma to show him the scars from Ramsay's torture, which he did reluctantly.

This again drew various reactions. The Queen looked away, her face drawn and sneering at the scar on Ranma's shoulder and side. Robert grunted in something like approval, while Joffrey sneered a little at the ugly scars, thinking he would never allow anyone to mark him like that. His sister, sitting with the other younger children further down the table had blushed at the flat, dense musculature of Ranma's chest and stomach.

Robert laughed as Ranma quickly pulled down his jerkin again. "Don't worry lad, women love scars."

"I haven't had much experience in that area," Ranma said shrugging, "but I'll defer to your **far** greater knowledge in that area your majesty."

Robert guffawed again, slapping Ranma on the shoulder with enough force to stagger most men but Ranma merely took it, not even grunting. For the next hour, as Robert got more and more into his cups, Ranma simply sipped at his wine, though he ate nearly as much of the king. The king didn't notice this but he did notice that Ranma hadn't finished even his first cup of wine. "What's the matter boy? Can't hold your wine?"

"I can hold it quite fine, your Majesty," Ranma said simply turning from his talk with Theon to address the king "but I prefer not to overindulge."

"Bah!" the King shouted, "That's only because you haven't had good wine here in the North. Ned, you surely broke out the good stuff for this feast, right?"

"I did indeed," Ned replied smiling faintly, "but my son has never been a major wine or beer drinker."

"Tell me you know how to fuck, at least!" the King said with a guffaw, causing Lady Catelyn and Cersei to both frown slightly.

Theon laughed. "He doesn't indulge in that either!"

"I save it up for more needful times, it loses its luster if you just go rutting around like some people." Ranma replied.

Robert looked up sharply at that, but that line was directed at Theon so he ignored it, laughing loudly instead. "Ah, but they say practice makes perfect, and I mean to get all the practice I can!" The dangerous moment over Ned, sitting between the King and Ranma, breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his head at how Ranma needed to learn how to choose his words more carefully, a thought shared by his wife.

The Queen had heard all this and smiled a little approvingly. Ranma might be uncultured, discourteous, and have no respect for rank but at least he seemed to be a respecter of women, which put him in a very small minority. She caught her brother's gaze from where he was sitting at another table and she felt her breath quickening under his gaze but shook her head slightly at him. Now was not the time to indulge in such things.

Cersei's face blanked utterly when she noticed the King had pulled one of the serving girls into his lap and was making her drink some of the wine.

Ranma had noticed this, too, and looked over at his mother sitting next to Cersei, raising one eyebrow, asking non-verbally 'can I be excused?'

His mother frowned and shook her head. The music hadn't started, and until it did it would be impolite in the extreme for someone to leave the King's table.

Ranma tried to ignore it, he really did, but there was the King flirting outrageously with a girl who was almost young enough to be his daughter. Closer to Joffrey's age than Myrcella's thankfully, or Ranma would have not been able to stop himself from playing punch-the-pedo. Some things had most definitely carried over from his previous life, and his own idea of the age of consent was one of them. But what was worse was that the Queen was sitting right there next to him. It just wasn't right. To Ranma's mind it wouldn't be right at any time to cheat on your wife, but rubbing it in her face made it even worse. "A drunken whoremonger is our King, really?" he murmured to Theon.

"Oh, I don't know," Theon responded. "I like it well enough."

"You would." Ranma said shaking his head again.

Thankfully at that moment songs began to play and Ranma stood up quickly. "I hear the dance floor calling my feet, if you'll excuse me mother, father, your majesties." With that he escaped, leaving Theon to make his own excuses and head out to hunt up his own willing wench.

Ranma however wasn't searching for a wench at all, he merely nodded at Dacey, who was at another table with Roger. When she had arrived with Jon and the others, the King's men had been scornful at the idea of a woman being a warrior, but here in public they weren't about to make a point about it, not on Stark land. He shook his head very slightly after he caught her eye and moved on, leaving Dacey to shrug mentally. She hadn't recovered from the trip, so a night spent simply sleeping sounded excellent to her. Moreover, she hadn't been able to get to her stash of moon tea, anyway, and she made a point of having at least four cups after her trysts with Ranma.

Joffrey was about to get up from his seat and his eyes were locked, rather disturbingly so in Ranma's opinion, on Sansa. Ranma got there first and he held out his hand declaiming grandly "My lady, may I have this dance?"

His sister giggled a little at his antics but held out her hand willingly. "Of course, young sir, I would be delighted," she said and he took her hand pulling her easily to her feet and moving with a whoop onto the dance floor.

The two continued to dance through both a fast song and a slow song. In the middle of the slow song Ranma said seriously, "I see you're interested in the young prince?"

Sansa blushed at that. "Oh, he's ever so handsome and he comes from Kings Landing! I've heard so many fascinating stories about it and it must be so much nicer than here and so many things happen there!"

Ranma raised an eyebrow. "And do you find being a Stark of Winterfell so boring?"

"Oh, you know what I mean." Sansa laughed, slapping his upper-arm lightly. "It must be amazingly interesting there and the weather is supposed to be warm, wouldn't that be nice? You can wear so many more fashionable things if you don't have to always be worried about staying warm."

"Possibly," Ranma said "but that isn't the stories I've heard. I don't like what I've seen of Joffrey, yet. He seems a little spoiled and whiny to me."

"Pooh," Sansa laughed again. "he's only been here a day, you know you shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"Be that as it may." Ranma said dancing around her. "Fenris doesn't like him much, either."

"Oh, now you're just being silly. Of course the dogs don't like him, he probably smells of cats or something like that, or he ate some southern food or other that they don't like the smell of."

Ranma held her still for a moment as the song ended, his face uncommonly serious. "Sansa, remember they are direwolves not dogs, they are as much a part of our family as we ourselves, the living totems of our house. They have instincts, dear sister, Fenris's instincts saved my life not too long ago and the lives of all of my friends."

Sansa was taken aback by his seriousness and then frowned. "I understand what you're saying Ranma, but that doesn't make him a good judge of character."

"No, it doesn't," he said equably, "but it doesn't make him a bad one either. All I'm saying is don't fall in love so quickly that you fail to see what you're signing up for, all right?"

Sansa nodded. "I promise. Now, since you're done delivering your big brotherly injunction," she said laughing and dismissing most of what he said, though taking a bit to heart, thankfully, "why don't you go and see what Arya is up to? I think she's about to throw some food at Myrcella and that would be very bad indeed."

Ranma turned and looked seeing what Sansa had spotted. He bowed swiftly, kissing her hand and moving from where he had been in the middle of the dancers to right behind the Baratheon princess. Behind him Joffrey moved quickly to claim his dance with the pretty Stark girl, a handsome and roguish (in Sansa's opinion anyway) smile on his face.

He arrived just in time, smacking the food out of the air with one flashing hand down onto the floor so fast Myrcella didn't even realize she had been targeted.

Quickly Ranma moved around the table to stand by his sister's side. Once there, he leaned down speaking into her ear. "Now would that have been very nice?"

"It would've livened things up at least." Arya muttered.

"Bed, I think for you." Ranma laughed, reaching down and picking Arya up easily despite her squirming. "I'll be up later to tell you the tale of what happened to Jon and I when we went North."

That made Arya stop fighting. "You promise?"

"I promise."

Arya nodded. "All right I'll go to bed willingly, but you better be up soon." Ranma promised to come up soon and set Arya down. She went to their parents, kissing each on the cheek and then left without further incident.

At the same time, the Queen came over with two of her maids and picked up her two youngest children. She looked at Ranma and Ranma bowed his head slightly to her, which she returned stiffly and the two turned away from one another.

Ranma shuddered just a little. _That woman is dangerous. There's a lot more going on behind those green eyes than she lets on. That stone mask of hers is good, too good really, and it__'__s pretty obvious she resents either my family or being here at all, not certain which, or why. _

He sat down at a random table, grabbing up a mug of water thankfully, and he quaffed down a few glasses worth.

"It's good to meet a young man who knows to avoid the devil drink," a voice, rather old sounding but still strong said from across the table from him.

Ranma looked up and bowed his head respectfully. "Ser Barristan, I trust you're having fun?" He knew of the older man's history of course and had found much to respect in the old man. He had served the previous king and continued to serve the throne regardless that the king had changed, doing so to the best of his ability. There was honor in that and, outside of the Kingslayer, he was possibly the only one of the Kingsguard Ranma could respect in terms of skill. Ranma knew that back in his old life Cologne and Happosai had been the most dangerous people he had ever met, possibly even more than Saffron in Happosai's case, so knew not to confuse 'old' with 'decrepit', even if the Barristan was portably no threat to Ranma. _Never overlook the old, they only get that way by killing or outliving their enemies. Not as applicable in this case as in those two old fossils, but still__…_

"I'm a little too old of these fetes, alas," The older man muttered, "and it's not really what a knight is made for." The younger man chuckled darkly at that and continued to drink from his water. Barristan raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You don't approve of something I said?"

"Oh nothing like that, I'm just always amused though by the way some people view knighthood. I don't think being a knight means anything," Ranma said shaking his head. "Not when someone like the Mountain that Rides can be one."

Barristan winced at that, but didn't say anything. Ranma was merely giving voice to what he had thought many a time, though he also held Jaime Lannister in just as much contempt for his breaking his vows as he did Gregor Clegane for butchering Elia Martell and her children.

Ranma went on. "The oaths mean nothing if you don't keep to them, if the knighthood cannot be taken away for breaking them. Outside of House Manderly, we here in the North don't have much time to waste on such things, believing a warrior's actions speak louder for him than any oath." Ranma took another long gulp of water then stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a little sister who I promised a story to." With that he bowed and took his leave, making his way upstairs to see Arya.

Behind him the Kingsguard commander frowned thoughtfully, and decided he would continue to observe the young man. Despite his disdain for knighthood, he carried himself like one who was truly worthy of the appellation and every time he moved Barristan had flashes of Ser Arthur Dayne. If he could be convinced to join, he could be a breath of fresh air the Kingsguard needed to get rid of all the rotted wood in it at the moment.

Outside, Ranma paused as he heard himself hailed. "Ho, be you the son or the bastard born? I've been told you look alike at first glance."

Ranma turned and took in the odd man before him. He was a dwarf, with stubby legs and a jutting forehead over mismatched eyes of green and black, and another mixture of hair color, pale blond and black. In one hand he held a large wineskin, and his face was somewhat red from drink. "I'm Ranma Stark, and you are?"

The dwarf rocked back on his heels smirking wider than before. "I would've thought my dear siblings would've mentioned me or you would have heard tales about me at least. I'm Tyrion, sometimes called the Imp."

"I've heard of you." Ranma responded. "They say your tongue is a very dangerous weapon, as is the mind behind it. I was told about you as an example of why I shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"Hah, and there we see the normal Stark method of diplomacy. My wit and my tongue can be very dangerous, young Stark, but you're not my normal target for my tongue and certainly my wit can be better used elsewhere." Tyrion chuckled, though only a twitch of Ranma's eyebrows showed he had gotten the joke. "Oh, don't be like that lad, you're far too young to start using the Stark family stone face all the time."

"Why are you out here, Lord Lannister, instead of inside enjoying the feast?" Ranma asked, actually finding himself liking the Imp for some reason.

"Hah, no lord am I, not even in contention for the Lannister name. No, I'm just Tyrion the imp, more mind than might. And why pray would I be in there? For one, my sister never likes me to be around in polite company, especially when she is trying to overawe people like your family. She has enough trouble trying to fight against Robert's lack of manners and general Robert-ness. Out here I can have my wine, I can raid your kitchen for food, and then, when I'm full up on wine, I can head into town and find a whore to fill up in turn."

Ranma rolled his eyes, amused at the jesters' turn of phrase. "Well then, Lord Tyrion, I will leave you to it. I have a sister who has demanded a bedtime story and the amount of mischief she can get up to doesn't bear thinking about, if she takes it into her head to be annoyed that I'm late."

"Hah, a most dangerous assignment to be sure, though before you go a question. I hear from the servants that you had recently been up to the Wall. Is it as magnificent as they say it is?"

"Magnificent? I suppose, in a way, awe-inspiring would be closer." Ranma replied, pausing his turn to look back at Tyrion. "But if you're just going up to see the sights then I would recommend coming back in a few years. If you heard about my trip, you know my friends and I ran into some trouble up there. I'm afraid the Night Watch would not have people free to show you around."

Tyrion bounced on his feet, more dexterous and mobile than one would think in someone so deformed, and now he was standing in front of Ranma again. "Yes, I heard about that, do you honestly think there is a King Beyond the Wall rising again? Surely the wildlings couldn't rally around one person after so long. That's as likely as you Starks developing a sense of humor."

"I would not have told my father what I did, or told Lord Umber or Lord Hornwood about it personally if I did not truly think that something was going on!" Ranma said, now nearly snarling at the idea of someone calling him a liar, even if the story going around wasn't the full truth. He calmed himself down, though, seeing the Imp's grinning face and knowing that the man saw his ill temper and enjoyed it too.

At this point, Ranma's years of dealing with Theon came to his aid. "If you go to the Wall, I suggest you think of ways where you can be useful. I understand you have a reputation as a smart man, though possibly only when it comes to talking whores out of their clothing or in aiming japes at others. Do try to turn that mind to something else if you go to the Wall, hmm?"

Tyrion laughed a little harshly, signaling Ranma had scored a bit of a hit there, though what specifically he said to get that blow in, Ranma didn't know. With a final nod, Ranma turned away again, continuing up to Arya's room.

OOOOOOO

Early the next day, Ranma was up and about. He moved on silent feet out of the keep and out to the exercise area, smiling in a bittersweet fashion at the faintest hint of light in the distance.

It was moments like these where Ranma most missed not being back in his old world, with Kasumi there to greet the morning with him and a cup of tea. _If only I recognized my feelings toward her at the time, _he lamented once more. _If only either of us realized we had grown so close. Yet it would never have worked, not with Akane being there, or my other so-called fianc__é__s or my father. Still, maybe if we had tried to make a go of it from the beginning._

Fenris jumping up onto his leg broke out Ranma of his maudlin thoughts and he smiled, reaching down to rub the direwolf's ears affectionately before moving on. Soon he began his initial exercises, Fenris accompanying him. The only one awake at the moment was Hodor, the large and friendly stable man, who was simple, unable to communicate beyond saying his name. "Hodor?" The big man smiled happily at seeing the Stark heir. "Hodor?"

"I'm fine Hodor, don't worry, I'm just going to do a bit of exercising, though if you could make certain that the horses we brought back are well cared for? They were run pretty ragged."

The giant man, nearly as large as Smalljon, and actually stronger than Smalljon had been before he started to train with Ranma, smiled happily. "Hodor!"

"Good man." Ranma smiled, patted the large man on the shoulder, then moved on, moving into some exercises while Fenris jumped around him.

About an hour later he smiled at Jon who was limping towards him with the silent Ghost at his side. "Are you sure you shouldn't rest some more Jon? I won't hold it against you if you want to rest a day. You did damn well to run with me for so long."

Jon shook his head with a smile. "I'll be alright, so long as you don't have me doing sprints or anything like that." Inside however he was once more amazed at how much endurance his brother had. Ranma had jogged alongside them for weeks, then sprinted alongside galloping horses for four days at the end, and didn't seem to be tired at all.

"No, I think you got enough of that yesterday. Let's start with some arm exercises, then when the others wake up we'll break to help them and then spar afterward when Ser Rodrick joins us."

With that the two of them began to move into a few of the martial arts forms that Ranma had taught Jon before, then moved on to upper body exercises. At about ten, the rest of the Stark brood got up and went about their day. Bran and Rickon joined the two older boys in exercising and were soon joined by Arya and Nymeria, her wolf, who immediately began to romp around with the other pups having a play fight of Fenris against all of them, which looked rather fun.

Ranma looked at his sister, his hands busy helping Bran to aim the bow and arrow correctly, while Ser Rodrick was helping Rickon with some hand exercises to build up his finger and hand strength. "I thought you were scheduled for lessons in etiquette and embroidery in the morning Arya, or did that change in my absence?"

His youngest sister scowled. "Ugh, it's so boring though! Myrcella's joined us, and all she and Sansa can talk about is boys and fashion and other boring things!" Actually the two were sort of comparing brothers in a way, with Myrcella trying to steer Sansa away from her interest in Joffrey. She was meeting with limited success, alas, while learning more about Ranma and Jon, who she had glimpsed that morning.

"Arya…." Ranma sighed. He liked seeing his younger sister enjoy learning how to fight so much, yet at the same time he didn't like the fact she tried to often to get out of their bargain with their parents. "You know our agreement with mother, you need to keep at your studies, or else I can't train you."

"Hmph." With that, Arya turned to Jon, "Well, that makes you my new favorite brother Jon. Do you think you can train me instead of this traitor?"

The Stark siblings broke out into laughter at that, even Rickon who didn't quite follow the joke, being all of seven. Ranma shook his head, holding up his hands. "Alright, alright I'll train you, but if we get in trouble you're going to be the one to take the blame for it. Go get your bow, and we'll have you and Bran practice together."

Arya grinned and ran off to grab her bow, made by Jon as a present for her, smaller and lighter than regular bows from the armory. Bran however seemed to sag, a motion Ranma caught. "What's wrong Bran?"

Bran was going to deny anything was wrong but Ranma caught his eyes and he sighed. "It's, it's just that Arya is much better than me at stuff like this, she's only a girl and she can shoot better than me, fight better than me, and she's even a little stronger too."

"First of all, forget all that 'only a girl' stuff." Ranma said sternly. "I would have thought watching Dacey and I practice together would have knocked the notion that women are weaker on the head for you." Bran blushed, having indeed watched the two of them and Ranma's other friends exercise several times in the past. "Good, then you should know there is no dishonor in being weaker than someone else. For another, there's no reason you need to be a warrior, Bran." Bran flushed further, looking away. "Just because Jon and I have to be, just because Arya wants to be, doesn't mean you and Rickon couldn't be something else."

Ranma reached down and forced his younger brother to look up at him again. "Let me tell you something, thinkers, scholars, builders have their place in the world. When you get right down to it, it's thinkers that change this world, builders that build things for the generations to come. Warriors can only defend things that other people have built. Take the Wall for instance, the Wall was built by our ancestor remember, **Bran** the Builder! Without the Wall the Night Watch couldn't do its job, and the North would have to deal with the wildlings raiding us all the time even down here in Winterfell, which was also built by Bran. If you want to go down that road, or become a maester or anything, you know our parents and I will support you."

By this time Arya was back and she raced up to Ranma grinning. "All ready!"

Ranma held Bran's eyes for another moment, and Bran sighed, then breathed in deeply and nodded, smiling now. Ranma clapped him on the shoulder then motioned the duo over to the archery range. "Alright Arya, you're aiming at the one on the farthest left, Bran the next right."

Above in a window, Ned had watched all this and Ranma turned his head to look up at his father, who nodded approvingly down at him. Ranma smiled happily then went back to instructing his younger siblings. Seeing that, Ned smiled and turned back to writing out messages to his vassals, sending them in small lots up to the Last Hearth, where they would then move en-masse to the Wall.

Later that day found Arya, Bran, and, surprisingly, young Tommen practicing with their practice blades. Arya was easily the best of the trio and she was working out one-on-one with Jon while Ranma instructed the other two. Ser Rodrick, who was still the official Master at Arms of Winterfell so had to be in attendance was also there, despite Ranma leading the majority of his sibling's instruction in arms. Rickon ran around with the direwolf pups, save for Lady, who was inside being pampered by Sansa and Myrcella.

"Bran, keep your shield up, don't let it drop like that or you're opening up your head to an attack!" Ranma shouted over the clangor of wood clattering on wood. "Good! Tommy, don't just try to hack and slash like that, remember that swords have points, too! Both of you aim your blows, don't just hack and pray!"

Tommen laughed at Ranma's nickname for him. It was a pretty obvious one, it must be said, but something no one in King's Landing would have dared to call him. Both youngsters responded with loud "Yes sir's!"

"What's this, the children's play area, or a training ground?" A sneering sort of voice said from behind Ranma. Both Ranma and Rodrick turned to see Joffrey standing there, a sneer on his pretty face. The prince wore simple, yet well-made armor and was carrying a blunted steel blade, the next step up from the wooden practice blades the youngsters were using. Behind him was his shadow, the swordsman called the Hound, Sandor Clegane, and a pack of other knights, the majority of whom wore Lannister colors, like the majority of the men-at-arms that had come north with the king.

One of them, however, wore the White Cloak of a Kingsguard, but it wasn't Jaime Lannister, much to Ranma's regret. The Kingslayer's skill with a sword was known to be among the finest in the kingdom and Ranma was eager to see how good he really was. Where Jaime was handsome, this man was somewhat plain, with short cropped orange hair and beard under a sallow face, with none of the sardonic humor that marked the Kingslayer. This face was marked with lines around narrowed eyes, which had a certain unpleasant glint to them.

"I wanted to come out here and practice, but I thought you northerners would at least divide the children from the warriors." Joffrey continued.

Ranma chuckled lightly, shaking his head, although out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how Tommen had shrunk in on himself at the sight of his older brother and how Arya was now glaring angrily at the prince. Nymeria had also separated herself from her siblings and stood next to her human. "If you must know, oh prince, the warriors have already practiced for a bit today. If you wish, you may wait a bit and Jon or I will accommodate you."

Theon, who had joined them halfway through the archery practice (and showed up both Arya and Bran, taking some pleasure in beating children) laughed harshly. "Are you sure you can still remember how to swing a practice blade, Ranma? It's been several years since you last did so, after all."

"I have no issues with using real steel." Joffrey shot back.

"I, however, do," Ser Rodrick said sternly. "There will be no live steel practice until you prove yourself able to handle it like what it is, a dangerous weapon that can turn in your hand, not some kind of toy."

"Why not let the lads practice?" Sandor grunted. "The young can learn more from a few nicks and scrapes than from hours of practice with blunted weapons."

"I am master at arms of Winterfell, not you Hound, and as such, I say no. I'll not be responsible for any scarring on either side." _ Or deaths,_ Rodrick added mentally. The Young Wolf was a blooded warrior, had been for years, and was easily the most dangerous warrior Rodrick had ever met. If he wanted to, he could carve the princeling into pieces.

"I am the prince, if some Northern lout can use it, so can I!" Joffrey declaimed angrily, as if he was not used to being told no.

Ranma again chuckled, not taking offense at the prince's posturing, seeing it as an example of a little dog barking the loudest. _We might be the same age, but that is where the similarities end,_ Ranma thought. The prince almost sounded like a whiny, less physically inclined, version of Kuno. "If you are so interested in using live steel, your highness, I propose a wager."

"Oh, what kind of wager?" Joffrey asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"I will use a regular training blade, and you, with someone else of your own choosing, can try your luck against me, two on one. But if I win, you will stand up at dinner tonight and tell everyone that I beat you, and if you win, I will do the same, though making no mention about your companion." Ranma smirked jumping up and over the training ground's surrounding fence to land lightly on his feet, then moved so quickly, only Jon could follow his movements. Suddenly, Ranma was holding Bran and Tommen's practice blades. He turned, now facing the prince and his followers, eyes alight with battle lust.

Jon chuckled, then motioned Bran and Tommen to join him while Arya grinned, looking forward to this.

Joffrey scowled but Rodrick shouted, "No! Ranma, you know I can't allow that. It's blunt blades or nothing, I know not how good the prince is and I will not allow something like that to happen on my watch."

Ranma shrugged unconcern. "Then let it be practice blades but four of them instead of the original two, I care not."

"I think the Northern bumpkin needs to be put in his place," the man in the colors of the Kingsguard muttered in a low voice, his eyes alight with barely hidden glee, "and besides, your highness, you can beat someone black and blue with training blades and no one can say a thing."

That turned Joffrey's scowl into a somewhat eager, rather disturbing smirk and he nodded. "If the Stark heir is so certain of himself then let us see if he can back it up."

Ranma grinned and threw one of the practice blades to Jon, who caught it easily. Jon then leaped over the training ground's encircling fence, before reaching back over and lifting up the children one at a time, setting them on their feet outside the fence. He and Theon exchanged a smirk, united for once in the thought, _This is going to be good__…_The rest of the Stark clan hadn't ever really seen how good Ranma really was, so were looking a little worried at the unfair odds.

Ser Rodrick frowned, but finally relented. "Very well, but no crippling or killing blows, I will be watching."

Joffrey strutted forward with the, as yet, unintroduced White Cloak, the Hound, and another knight in Lannister colors. They all grabbed practice blades, then entered the salle, grinning and stalking forward.

Ranma, however, didn't wait for them and jumped forward, his blade flashing out to catch the White Cloak's blade, which he had risen in a desperate parry to keep Ranma's blade from his chest. Ranma then ducked away, circling easily, his blade flashing out to cut the leg out from under Sandor when he tried to get behind Ranma.

The Hound went down, yet his sword lashed out automatically, but Ranma danced away, chuckling and circling the trio still on their feet, as if all the advantage was his, not theirs. Sandor's deep-set eyes had widened at Ranma's initial speed and he pushed himself to his knees, eyes narrowed, actually taking Ranma seriously now.

Goaded by Ranma's mirth like it had been a whip, Joffrey growled and charged forward. Ranma dodged aside, the flat of his blade catching the young prince on the rear. Joffrey fell to the ground face first, his pride and rear smarting.

Swift as a striking serpent, Ranma turned, charging the two left on their feet, leaping up and kicking out to catch Sandor in the chest as he tried to grab Ranma's legs with a quick lunge. Sandor was sent flying backward and Ranma's blade caught the Lannister knight's blade locking them as he ducked under the White Cloak's blade which had aimed for its head.

Arya and the other Stark men and siblings began to laugh at the display, while those wearing Lannister colors either gaped or cursed in turn. The bout lasted another ten minutes, accompanied by the heckling and laughing of the Northerners. None of the four southerners were able to land a single blow on Ranma, who was simply too fast for them.

This was especially galling for the Hound, who knew he was one of the better blades in the kingdom, not in the top five perhaps, but certainly in the top twenty, and this young puppy was making a fool of him and the others, as if they were no threat at all.

About ten minutes into the bout, Joffrey realized this and he moved back, wincing only slightly. Outside of that first blow to the rear, Ranma had been very careful to pull his blows. In fact, Ranma had simply dodged or otherwise ignored the prince, outside of landing one more blow that caught the prince on his side, in favor of beating the other three black and blue. "This is a damn farce, you're just dancing around, this isn't real fighting! I've had enough!"

Ranma stopped, negligently blocking one last blow from the still unintroduced Kingsguard, throwing him back on his rear easily. Ranma was rather amused. His initial thoughts on the Kingsguard had been proven correct, if this man was worth the white cloak they were not nearly as good as their reputation suggested. The Hound had been the most dangerous of his opponents and not even he was much of a threat. "Just remember to look before you leap from now on, prince."

Joffrey scowled, a somewhat mad light in his eyes. "If we were back in King's Landing, I would have your head cut off for your insolence!"

"But we aren't, nor would you be able to simply command an enemy to fall down dead in the real world," Ranma replied scornfully. "On your way, prince, and be glad you only have a few bruises and wounded pride. Many of my own lessons have been much more painful."

Joffrey growled, staring at Ranma hatefully and Ranma saw something in his eyes. For just a second, there was something more in his eyes than the normal teenage anger at someone who had just bested him. Unfortunately, Ranma couldn't identify it before it disappeared behind cold disdain. Ranma had hoped that this would teach the young prince to think things through or at least to assume that his opponent might be better than he thought, but it looked as if he hadn't learned either lesson.

After a moment, Joffrey turned and walked off, shouting at his retainers to follow him, forgetting, for a moment anyway, that his younger brother had been a witness to his humiliation. The three men who had fought with him stared at Ranma, but there was much more wariness and even a bit of fear in their expressions as they took up position at the back of the crowd of Lannister men. The entire group retreated, sent on its way all the faster by the barking laughter of the Starks and their men.

Ranma turned to Arya, Tommen, and Bran. "Now then, I believe you all were practicing before I had my bit of exercise." With that they all turned back, and Ranma moved to Tommen and Bran, walking them through some sword forms.

Above them, an old man wearing white enameled armor turned away from the window previously used by Eddard to stare out over the training area, a smile on his weathered face.

OOOOOOO

"Are you mad Barristan?! Did you learn nothing from Tywin and his response to Jaime being raised to the white?! Fucking hells, I want Ned to be my new Hand of the King, not throw my offer back in my face!" Robert bellowed, staring at Ser Barristan, having nearly spat out a mouthful of the wine he was currently drinking when the man told the king his intentions.

Barristan weathered his king's ire with ease, it wasn't the first time he'd been yelled at by his king, nor was Robert the first king to yell at him so. "I assure you, my lord, I am quite sane. I think I have never seen a more dangerous young man, not even Ser Jaime before he was raised to the White. The Kingsguard are supposed to be the best blades in the kingdom. What I saw today and the tales I have heard about the boy since we arrived make it certain that he is already such a blade. Nor is this the same circumstances as Jaime's being raised to the White at all. For one thing, Ranma is not the only one of Lord Stark's children that can take the lordship after Lord Stark's passing. Young Bran or even young Rickon could step up in time. After all, Lord Stark is not an old man, he could live for another forty years or more."

Robert paused and thought about it for a moment, but then shook his head. "I understand that, but given what the Queen was bitching at me for before you got in here, putting Ranma and Joffrey in close proximity would not be a good idea." He smirked, "The fact it would piss off the brat and my 'dear' wife is nice, but she's shrill enough at the best of times. Besides, there's no guarantee that he would accept."

The older man blinked in shock, as if the very idea of someone declining the honor was beyond his comprehension and Robert guffawed, loud and long. "Hadn't thought about that had you, oh Bold one, hahahaha!" After a moment, he got control of his mirth and shook his head. "No, if you want to ask you may, but don't be surprised if he says no. Starks learn duty at their mother's teats and the heir of Winterfell knows his duty."

"His duty should be to the kingdom as a whole, not just to his house, but I take your meaning your grace. I will try to pursue this subtly."

OOOOOOO

Catelyn stared down at the message, rather surprised that house Tyrell had responded so promptly and she wondered why they had. One thing Lady Olenna wasn't known for was hasty, snap judgments or decisions. Yet for now she had to go see her husband. This might change things tremendously, at least she hoped so, and as for the other message Maester Luwin had passed on, she really didn't know what to make of it.

As Catelyn suspected, she found Ned in the godswood. Ned always went there when he was deliberating on weighty matters. Today he was sitting silently, staring contemplatively into the deep, cool pool of water at the base of the heart tree. He looked up when her footsteps announced her presence and Catelyn's breath quickened as she saw that faint, small smile that Ned used only for family, with a certain lopsidedness added to it that she knew was just for her. "My husband, there is news."

Ned nodded. "I have news I would share with you as well."

Catelyn frowned at the tone in her husband's voice and sat down next to him. She never truly felt comfortable in the godswood but had learned to respect the religion of the old gods. "First, we have heard back from the Tyrell family. They wish to set up a meeting between Margaery and Ranma, to see if there is any arrangement that might be reached. But they want the meeting to occur in King's Landing at court."

That last bit caused Ned to wince a little but he nodded, as it wasn't unheard of to have marriage deals occur on neutral ground, so that both parties came to it as equals. "Ranma will not like the idea of leaving the North right now." That, Ned knew, was an understatement. As far as he could tell, his son hadn't yet realized that Ned himself might be heading south, but this on top of that news would not make for a pleasant conversation. If an alliance could be forged with the powerful Tyrell family however, it would be well worth it. **If,** of course, was the major question.

"Jon is capable of filling in as regent isn't he? He's taken all the lessons Ranma has and he is nearly as bright as Ranma is, after all." Catelyn asked. "This is important; a marriage alliance with House Tyrell would strengthen our house's position tremendously. And I think even the king would give his blessing. It would weld the most powerful house that remained loyal throughout the war to the Targaryen dynasty to the crowns strongest supporters, House Stark."

"True." Ned mused, but inside he was worried that removing Ranma from the North would allow the White Walkers to move against them. "Winter is coming." he muttered, thinking how true his family's motto was, true now and true for every man and woman, young and old. _But will this marriage help us stand against the coming winter, or take our attention from preparing to meet the forces of the endless cold?_

Ned put that aside for now, and looked at his wife. "Your news mirrors my own. The king has offered to wed Joffrey to Sansa, despite her still being young for it."

Catelyn gasped in shock. "But that is amazing! In one swoop we can go from being the least powerful of the realms to the most powerful!" She frowned, "Why do you sound so uncertain about this, the marriage would be a great honor. And from what I have seen, Sansa is enamored of the young prince and there seems to be interest flowing the other way as well."

"I am not so pleased with the stories we have heard of Joffrey coming up from the south. I know tales should not be taken as fact but they can have a kernel of truth to them. I would like time to get to know the lad before giving my blessing." He suddenly smiled. "I can use Ranma's coming along as a reason to put it off until I gain knowledge of Joffrey's character, first hand. After all, it would be unseemly to have the younger sibling married off before the older would it not?"

"That… that could work, I suppose, though it isn't all that uncommon Ned and everyone, especially the Queen, would say that Joffrey's marriage is of more importance. I think you are jumping at shadows, yet I would prefer to know as well that my daughter would be happy in her marriage." She chuckled. "And of course you would have Ranma with you to help you and vice versa. I doubt that Ranma will respond calmly to the news that his sweet sister is to wed."

Ned joined her in chuckling but after a moment he asked, "You were uncertain of the wisdom of my becoming Hand of the King, yet now you think Jon can handle becoming the regent for Ranma, why the change?"

Catelyn shook her head with a wry smile. "Jon is nowhere near as impetuous as Ranma, as much as it pains me to admit it. And as regent he won't have nearly as much room to maneuver as Ranma would as heir."

That made Ned smile a bit, for it was true. Ranma acted on his feelings and intuition much more than Jon, not that they had steered him wrong yet, or at least, not too far wrong. And it was also true that Ned had made certain both his oldest sons, regardless of Jon's true parentage he was Ned's son in all ways that mattered, had as much practical experience and book knowledge as he could. Jon would perform well as regent. He looked at his wife, head cocked to one side. "You said this news from house Tyrell was the first of your news, what is the second?"

"I honestly don't know what to make of it." Catelyn confessed. "The raven I sent to my sister with my condolences came back with a small package, a small piece of worked glass for a telescope Maester Luwin is constructing. Yet inside the box which held the glass, there was a message to me from Lysa. I… it says, well you better read it yourself."

She handed over the letter. Ned took it, reading the short, somewhat hysterical message quickly. In it, Lysa wrote that her husband had been looking into something to do with the King's bastards, and that she felt that the Queen had been angry at this, then went on to point a finger at the Lannisters, saying one of them had Jon Arryn poisoned.

For a moment, Ned sat silently then shook his head. "Lysa barely sounds coherent in this, I would say that maybe there is something going on, but she doesn't provide any proof. Until we see some proof one way or the other, I think we should take this with a grain of salt, if that. I don't mean to sound disparaging, but this letter doesn't say anything concrete, so using it for more than a starting point would be foolish. I can look into what Jon Arryn was doing when I arrive in King's Landing, and I will take more men with me as well as a cook I can trust, but that is all."

"That is more than enough for me, my love. In all honesty, after reading that note I am more than a little concerned about my sister's sanity. I trust you will be taking those guards that have been trained by our son?" Many guards in Winterfell had trained with the Young Wolf, but only about twenty made it a point to train with him as often as they could. They all were markedly better than their fellows and also, younger in the main, since older guards were less willing to take instruction from (and be soundly beaten by) the young heir.

"Of course. I will take Ser Jory Cassel and all the others, as well as ten more. More than thirty men, I'm afraid, would show that we do not trust the guards with the King, or feel threatened by the idea of going south." A thought struck him and he smiled. "Could you send a missive to your father, my love? If he could loan us some more men from his household, they could meet us in King's Landing and join us there, where they would be most useful. It would also seem to be more natural that way, his knights and men taking the opportunity to get to know his grandson first hand."

Catelyn smiled somewhat sadly. "I will certainly do so, though I do not know if it will be my father or younger brother Edmure that sends them. My father is old, Ned, and I don't know how much longer he will be able to continue as Steward of the Riverlands."

The two talked about their plans some more and then exited the godswood arm in arm. They were intercepted by a furious looking Queen, trailed by a rather irritatingly smug looking Joffrey.

OOOOOOO

"You wanted to see me father?" Ranma asked, standing before his father's desk. He had been out with Arya and his younger siblings, save Sansa. Sansa, the perfect little lady, had made a firm friend in Myrcella and was happy to remain inside all day working on her latest project. It was a jacket with the Lannister lion and Baratheon Stag on either shoulder done in varied hues of red (Lannister) and brown (Baratheon) for Joffrey. Of course, Ranma had vowed to himself to get her training with Lady later.

Lady and Sansa missed out with Ranma leading the others in a rather impromptu learning session, bonding with and learning how to read their direwolves moods and sense their feelings. This was in no way an exact science, but with Ranma's vague feeling that they should be able to get something from their wolves like he had, they all were able to make some progress, though it was a mixed bag without Ranma able to give them any real instruction, having only the vaguest idea of what they were doing himself. It wasn't something he could go to the maester or anyone else for advice for after all.

For one, Bran's, as yet unnamed, wolf seemed to know instinctively what Bran wanted and was always friendly to everyone. Rickon's Shaggydog was at the other end of the spectrum. Rickon couldn't get any feelings or anything else from Shaggy, though he was quick to pick up some of the training words, thankfully.

Nymeria and Arya had a very good connection and Arya seemed to be able to get some feelings from Nymeria. What was better, however, was that Arya had already been experimenting with it, got Ranma's rather out there explanation of what they could do, and wasn't afraid of it. Bran was a little, though Rickon, at age five, merely found it a fantastic idea, and spent most of the time on all fours following Shaggydog around and vice versa.

Ghost and Fenris however were head and shoulders beyond the others in endurance, training, power, size, and the connection they had with their humans. They responded not only to verbal commands but also feelings, sent out along whatever link they shared with their masters. Fenris was larger by a full hands length than Ghost and was much more energetic and personable than the almost silent Ghost. Ghost, on the other hand, seemed to develop his own ability to blend in and disappear like his owner could at need, which was a little scary, frankly.

Ned looked up not smiling at his son and wordlessly gesturing him to sit down. When Ranma did, Ned spoke, his voice cold. "What possessed you to dishonor the prince so? You are a blooded warrior, you thrashing him as you did caused nothing but bad feelings." He held up a hand as Ranma made to interject. "I know that is not what happened, but it was the end result. The Queen came and complained about your behavior, calling it combative, discourteous, and unnecessary. There is enough bad feeling between her family and ours without you adding to it."

Ranma frowned but nodded. "I'll keep that in mind, I suppose, but I thought that four on one would be enough to offset any loss of dignity."

Ned's face became marginally warmer. "I can understand that my son, but try to get along with the prince, please, like it or not he is the heir apparent, and you will be dealing with him for decades to come." Ranma nodded stoically and Ned allowed his face to relax even further, sighing. "That was not the only reason I wished to speak to you, there are three other things I need to tell you. I am certain you have figured out by now that his grace was not just here to visit an old friend. He wants me to take on the position of Hand of the King and I have accepted."

That made Ranma start in surprise, for in fact, he had not spent much thought on why the king was here, since it had been only a day, after all, and he had been simply spending time with his siblings since he got back. "So, as your heir you're saying that I will have to fill in, I suppose? I can't say I'm pleased by the timing father, in many ways."

"No… that brings me to the second point. Your mother has been very concerned for the past year about how few marriage prospects of the right station there are in the North for you, and has been looking into other alternatives. Do you know of House Tyrell?"

"House Tyrell is the house of the Steward of the Reach, the largest and, in many ways, richest nation of the kingdom. Mace Tyrell is the current head of the house. He backed the Targaryen dynasty, and relations between House Tyrell and the throne have been strained, but peaceful since Robert took the throne." Ranma recited from memory, then asked suspiciously "Why?"

"Your mother has communicated the idea of having you and Margaery Tyrell, the daughter of the house, meet on neutral ground. So you will be coming with me when we go south."

For a moment, it didn't register, then Ranma's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "Father, don't take this the wrong way but are you insane?" Ned reared back in shock at the sudden discourtesy from his son, but Ranma continued. "You know the real story about what Jon and I ran into, you know what that could mean! You can surely see that this threat might be why I was allowed to retain my memories of my past life yet you want me to leave the North? That is utterly insane!"

Ned was about to retort sharply then clamped down on his temper with his habitual control before he said something they would both regret. After a minute he responded, his voice and face once more controlled. "Yet for all that you ran into, my son, you have no idea when the White Walkers will strike, nor what the wildlings are really up to. Unless the wildling woman has shared more with you and your friends than you have shared with me?" Ranma reluctantly shook his head and Ned continued. "The attack on you might have been a preemptive strike, when the bulk of their forces are not yet ready for war. If it was part of a larger plan, they would have continued to try to kill you and your friends rather than being happy with a single assault that showed their hand."

"Now, let us think about what you can do with that time. An alliance between us and the Reach would weld us to the most powerful realm in terms of military potential and the breadbasket of Westeros, something that will be incredibly important with winter coming. Moreover, as your mother pointed out, it will weld the most dangerous and powerful family that stood against Robert and our forces during the Rebellion to us, which would help the stability of the kingdom as a whole."

"I see…" Ranma mused, then shook his head again. "I still don't like it, but I suppose that you've thought about it and I will respect your decision father. I don't agree with it, but I will of course abide by it. And what is the third point you wanted to inform me of?"

Ned smiled internally, knowing that this would take away the last vestiges of discontent Ranma felt for going south with the King's party. "His majesty has offered his son Joffrey's hand in marriage to Sansa, and your mother and I have provisionally accepted. It will not become official until we all arrive in King's Landing, and even then we will be able to use your own need for an arrangement to hold it off until we, and by we, I mean you and I, are able to put our worries about Joffrey's character to rest."

Fenris leapt up suddenly, his fangs barred in a surprisingly intimidating show of aggression, given the pup was barely five months old. Ranma reached down, rubbing Fenris's head comfortingly as he got control of his own emotions. Fenris subsided under his hand and Ranma let out a breath. "I am **not **happy about that, but at least we will be able to have time to get to know him better. And if we learn that some of those rumors that Theon shared with me this morning are true, we can pull back from the deal?"

"Yes we can, though I am not looking forward to telling Sansa, in that case. I told her not twenty minutes ago about this and I am almost certain you can still hear her squealing in joy, if you listen hard enough." Ned responded dryly.

"I'll do that, if you want," Ranma said, his face grim. "Something tells me that pulling out of this arrangement will be necessary. I don't like Joffrey. That may be my first impression only, and I'll try to keep an open mind, but there is just something… off about him."

"I find myself in reluctant agreement. There seems to be all the worst parts of his mother's line and nothing of his father in him, which is a pity." Ned was also wondering how Jon Arryn had come to die so suddenly and if there was indeed anything in Lysa Tully's hysterical letter. He hoped that, as Hand of the King, he would be able to look into that when he arrived in King's Landing.

Ranma nodded again, though in truth he didn't see much in Robert either, but he knew the man had been different in his youth. "May I be excused father, I feel the need to clear my head."

Ned nodded, and Ranma stood up, moving swiftly out of the study with Fenris padding at his heals. Ned chuckled a little. "That actually went better than I expected."

OOOOOOO

After an extremely quick run, Ranma found himself in the godswood, as always when something was bothering him. He sat down eventually, leaning back against the heart tree, Fenris laying out across his legs. He wasn't there to seek advice or anything like that. Ranma had never really been the type to do that in his past life or this one. He was simply there to think.

From what he could remember of the vision he had been given in this very wood by the old gods, humans, human armies ,and betrayal were some of the threats in the future, but Ranma wasn't really built for sniffing out traitors and he didn't like the idea of going south while the White Walkers were still out there. He wanted to face the threats he was here to face one at a time, defeat them, and then move on but he knew that was wishful thinking.

There was also the fact that he was possibly going to be getting married. He knew his relationship with Dacey was one that could never go anywhere. They both knew it. Despite this, the idea of marrying someone else did not interest him at this point. This was especially true, given his past life, where he had more than enough problems with arranged marriages and girls. He had generally gotten over his fear of the latter but not the former, which added to his current problems.

"I'm worried." he said honestly, leaning back against the tree, both of his hands rubbing Fenris's back as the beast lay on top of his legs. "I'm worried that I am heading into an arena where my skills will not be of much worth, where words are going to be the only weapons. I'm also worried about what the White Walkers will do in my absence."

Ranma closed his eyes, thinking hard. He couldn't disobey his father, it was his duty to go, and even his marrying was a duty because it would strengthen the family. _Yet, is that what I should be doing?_ He thought to himself.

As he laid there, a soothing feeling came over him and he felt his worries fall away. That feeling seemed to say whatever his choice he would be able to face the challenges to come.

He suddenly smiled. "And it's not as if going south will leave the North entirely defenseless. The Night Watch is being strengthened even as I sit here, with more help heading north every day. My friends and Jon will still be here as well, and Jon is well up to being a regent for our family." _ In fact,_ he thought to himself, _Jon might actually do a better job at this point_.

There was nothing his instincts could latch onto here, no way to bring the White Walkers to battle. Well, there was one, he could simply march north of the Wall and dare them to come at him, but that wasn't really an option. Wildlings were dangerous at ambush and night attacks here in the North, on their own ground they could cut any army to ribbons. No, now was the time to prepare, to gather supplies and prepare your lines of supply, something that Ranma, while having learned it from his father and Maester Luwin, wasn't really mentally put together to be very good at.

Jon could. He was much more methodical and a little better at numbers (and at writing, Ranma's handwriting was horrible) than Ranma. He had the same connections across the North. He had the friendship of the wolf-sworn who would aid him as they would Ranma in his place and of course Lady Catelyn. So really, Ned was right, there was nothing Ranma could do here, save for being a visible target and threat

Decision made, Ranma reached out to gently touch the bark of the heart tree in thanks before turning away and making his way purposefully out of the woods.

Ranma frowned suddenly, looking up towards one of the oldest towers in Winterfell, one that was falling apart and unused. What had caused him to frown was the sight of Bran climbing up the walls. But it wasn't just the spectacle of Bran climbing that had caused Ranma to frown but the fact that his brother had stopped and looked to have almost fallen for a moment but had caught himself. Ranma shook his head and started to move in that direction, ready to help or simply order Bran to come down, if need be.

A moment later he was much closer and, suddenly, he saw a flash of a hand from the window slit Bran was perching on and then Bran was falling, falling to the ground, so far below.

There was no time to think, no time to do anything but run. Pushing as much of his ki into his legs as he could, Ranma's body obeyed his mind's command, going faster, faster than any human could move unaided. Blue-gold energy appeared for just a moment around his legs as he rocketed forward. Even as the barrier inside him, which had held back his ability to use ki for so long, shattered under his urgent need, Ranma knew it would not be enough.

OOOOOOO

Bran loved to climb. He loved to explore, to find secret nooks and crannies. He knew it drove his mother up the wall (figuratively speaking) but there was just something inside him that urged him out to explore and to learn. It was the same reason why he spent a lot of time of an evening in the library, reading far more than his siblings, even sneaking books out to read in his bedroom by candlelight, now that he was old enough to be trusted with a candle. Today, Bran was going up the Broken Tower's side. He had seen some birds nesting up on top, and he wanted to see if there were any chicks.

The Broken Tower had once been the largest tower of Winterfell, but had fallen into disrepair after a lightning strike decapitated it. It was almost entirely forgotten these days. Unfortunately that meant that it was an obvious place for someone to go to have some private time without being found.

This was how Bran came to catch the Queen in a heated tryst. But even more shockingly than the Queen breaking her wedding vows to the King, she was doing it with her own brother! The sight had so shocked Bran he had paused, one hand reaching out to the next handhold, and nearly fell when his other hand's grip failed under his weight.

The sound Bran made while scrabbling around desperately to stop himself from falling, had alerted the two lovers to his presence. Jaime, after popping himself back into his breeches, strode over grabbing his hands and pulling Bran up. Cersei rearranged herself, pulling her blouse shut over her pearly white breasts, glaring angrily at the boy all the while.

Ever after he fully recovered, Bran would never remember the words that were spoken, the promise he tried to make, the Queen urging him to keep her secret, until Jamie spoke a single sentence, which would forever burn itself in Bran's memory: "The things I do for love." Because it was after that, Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, tried to kill him by pushing him out the window slit.

Yet, Bran had been trained by Ranma not only in sword techniques but hand-to-hand for several years and his hands quickly reached up to Jaime's one hand, threatening to break his thumb while the other gripped his wrist. It took all of Jaime's considerable finger strength to keep his thumb from being pulled back. They struggled for a moment, then Jamie, ignoring how his sister was shouting at him to stop, pulled hard up and to the side, slamming Bran's head against the side of the opening.

The pain from that blow caused Bran to reach up to his head crying aloud and Jaime completed what he wanted to do, pushing the boy out of the window, cursing all the while.

The push wasn't as strong as he wanted however, and Bran slammed his head into the side of the wall as he fell twice more, then he knew only darkness.

The Queen stared at her brother, aghast. "You didn't need to that! We could have…"

"He would've told eventually, no way a boy that age could have kept quiet long." Jamie said, wringing out his thumb and wincing a little, wondering how the boy had been able to fight him like that. Looking out the window slit, he gasped in surprise as from the wall surrounding the godswood jumped the Stark heir. More than six stories he leapt and landed safely on this side of the wall before rushing forward. He was moving faster than Jamie could follow and he hissed, wondering what how the hell the boy could move so fast. "We need to get out of here!"

Cersei didn't question her brother, simply turning and rushing toward the rickety stairs. The Queen growled low in her throat as she quickly and expertly made certain her clothing was once more immaculate. "From now on, let me handle this! That little abrupt moment back there might have ruined everything!"

"You weren't complaining when we…" Jamie drawled then broke off as his sister slapped his face.

"Fool!" she whispered fiercely, "that was not what I meant! You should never have pushed the boy, now we'll cover this up my way."

Jamie frowned touching his cheek for a moment then shrugging. "Very well, dear sister, though if it comes to it, I will protect you. You know that the wolves will respond badly to this."

Cersei sneered at him. "Let the thinking to me, dear brother, trust me I'll come up with something if needed." Thankfully for the incestuous couple, the actual entrance to the tower was away from the direction Ranma was coming, allowing them to leave without being seen, thus they were able to get back into the main keep and go their separate ways. This was helped by the amount of uproar occurring elsewhere in the keep.

OOOOOOO

As fast as Ranma was, he had been correct that he would not be time. By the time he was halfway to the tower whoever was inside had already pushed Bran. By the time he was at the base of the broken tower Bran had smashed his head several times against the wall as he fell like a broken marionette down the side of it, though Bran would not finish his descent. With legs still infused with his ki Ranma jumped up, clearing half the height between him and Bran's falling body before latching onto the wall and snagging his younger brother as he came down.

He jumped back down to the ground landing easily and stared at Bran's direwolf, which had been nosing around at the bottom of the tower until his master ran into trouble, as well as Fenris, who had somehow kept up with him. Ranma would figure out how later, right now there were more important things. "Run!" he ordered. "Get Jon! Tell him to meet me at the infirmary!" Both wolves turned at his command racing away, though Bran's wolf was markedly slower in both obeying and his speed.

With that, Ranma zoomed off, heading towards the keep and already shouting for Maester Luwin and his mother at the top of his voice. It was a shout soon taken up by others as they saw him racing toward the keep with his brother's body in his arms.

They both met him at the doorway to the keep. At the sight of the bleeding, broken Bran in Ranma's arms, Catelyn seemed to freeze, her face going from concerned to appalled when she saw the bloody mess that had been Bran's head and face.

Ranma didn't mention the reason behind Bran's fall for the moment, simply saying to the healer, "He hit his head at least three times on the wall before I could get to him. He's still got a pulse, but it's fading in and out."

They both made way for him and the maester immediately began to work on Bran's head, walking next to Ranma. His hands felt around the boy's head and Luwin clicked his tongue in concern. "Lay him down, quickly!" he ordered, motioning toward one of the beds. Catelyn followed them, her hands over her mouth as great large tears appeared in her eyes. But she forced herself to stay away, knowing she would be more hindrance than help right now.

Out in the corridor Ranma could hear the sound of his siblings and possibly a few of their guests coming to see what had happened, but he ignored that, following the maester's instructions to lay Bran out. "Hot water!" Luwin ordered, "And some clean dressings."

Ranma nodded and made for the doorway only to find several servants turning and hurrying off for the water. When he turned back, his mother was already grabbing some bandages from the shelf.

After handing the wraps to the maester Catelyn looked at Ranma, wanting to ask what happened, yet pausing when she something in his face. Something that made her own face go from tear stained, anxious, and fearful, to angry. "He didn't just fall, did he?"

Her oldest son shook his head, too angry to speak for a moment. Jon ran up just then. He looked wild-eyed at Ranma and then into the infirmary staring at Bran then back at Ranma.

Ranma clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him close. "Take our direwolves," he ordered in a whisper, "head over to the Broken Tower and up it as far as you can, look for anything unusual, anything that could hint at who did this."

"'Who did this'?" Jon asked his face going grim. "You mean someone pushed him?"

"I don't know who did it," Ranma said, nodding his head at both him and Catelyn, who had come close to listen to his words, "but when I looked up and saw him, I saw Bran fighting with someone's hand in one of the windowsills. If only I had been closer!" Ranma slammed his fist hard against the wall, cracking the stone there with the force of his blow. Only Jon noticed this, his eyes going slightly wide despite his previous knowledge of Ranma's strength.

Catelyn shook her head. "Don't blame yourself Ranma, Bran is always climbing every chance he gets, it's not your job to watch him all the time and it's not your fault that someone pushed him. Just…" her voice trailed off as she looked down at her young son, afraid that she would never see him smile again, never see him run up to her with an interesting plant or a tale of something he found or read. "Find who did this," she said her voice cracking as she looked up at her oldest, torn between a bottomless rage and an equally bottomless grief.

"We will," Jon said turning on his heel and rushing away. Ghost, Fenris, and Bran's unnamed wolf all followed him, for once not looking like oversized puppies but true direwolves on the hunt.

The servants quickly arrived with the needed hot water, helped in this by the fact that Winterfell had been built over a hot spring, both heating the castle and allowing for clean, disease-free, hot water.

Ranma made way for them, staring down as they began to work with the maester and his mother on cleaning Bran's wounds. He hissed angrily as he saw the large gash on the side of Bran's head, as well as the broken nose and another large cut over one eye that would need stitching.

He looked around as he felt someone touch his shoulder and turned to see his father with the rest of his siblings behind him, as well as their guests, even Joffrey. Both the girls looked a little weepy, though Arya was holding up better than Sansa. Ranma had to stop himself from yelling when he saw that Joffrey had taken the opportunity to comfort Sansa and had an arm around her shoulders. Rickon was crying, not really understanding why everyone was running around and shouting but understanding something bad had happened to his brother.

Theon, too, was there looking angry and worried. Ranma nodded to him and motioned over to the kids. "Get them out of here," he muttered, "We'll tell them later what happened, after that get back here quick." Theon nodded and started to shepherd the young children off, uncaring of which family they belonged to.

The Lannister guard, who had followed the two royal children from where they had been playing with Arya and Sansa, and Joffrey paled under Ranma's glare and the guard quickly turned and followed them away.

Joffrey however remained, while the rest of the royal party began to make an appearance, wondering what was going on. Robert was the next to arrive and he leaned around the door-jam looking inside. "The lad fell? You mentioned his love of climbing last night Ned, I suppose it was almost inevitable."

"He did not fall, your grace," Ranma growled, his hands clenching and unclenching and his eyes blazing, "he was pushed."

"Do you have any proof of that" said Varys, who had followed the king, "or are you simply guessing?" He was now standing well away from the doorway, unwilling to see what had happened to the young boy. Some said Varys had a soft spot for children or too much of a liking for them, and Bran was precisely the kind he recruited to be his 'little birds', the boy and girl prostitutes who were the most important agents of his spy ring. Here in Winterfell, he had been completely unable to find any such to use and had been force to use other agents.

"I saw him fighting with someone's hand in a windowsill of the Broken Tower, there is no doubt he was pushed. I've sent Jon and our wolves up to see if they could sniff out any clues." Roger and Dacey had just arrived and, at those words, both turned and ran off to join Jon.

At the back of the crowd, the Queen heard this as well and started, looking over to Jamie who was now** finally** looking worried. She turned, quickly moving over to Sir Preston Greenfield and began to whisper in his ear, so low no one could make out the words. The man gulped and began to shake his head but the Queen continued to speak low and angry. d Something she said seemed to change his mind and he finally nodded, whispering back something.

Only Tyrion noticed this and the Imp's eyes narrowed, wondering what his sister was up to.

The Queen nodded grimly and moved on to two of her maids. When she was certain Preston was no longer looking in her direction, she began to whisper in their ears. Both of them blanched slightly, but they both were loyal to her and her family, and had served her long before she became queen. Eventually one nodded her head, somberly.

"If all you saw was a hand, I'm afraid that's not much to go on," Varys said rather apologetically. While he had no family he understood the motivations that drove them.

"I don't care." Ranma said coldly, looking past his father at the eunuch before repeating himself, "I don't care. If I find even a hint of who was behind this, your grace, the barest piece of evidence, I will kill that person. I do not care about his or her station, I do not care about his or her family connections, I do not care about his or her gender! For this assault on my younger brother, he or she will die."

"Well said, boy." Robert grunted, wondering who the bastard was and why the boy had been attacked.

"Agreed." said Ned grimly. He wondered if this had anything to do with the message that Catelyn's sister had sent her, which suddenly was making much more sense than it had an hour ago. He looked over at Robert, wondering if he should tell him about the letter, but decided not to, since it didn't have any evidence backing its claims. The last thing the realm needed were the Queen and King to become even more at odds with one another without any visible cause.

About two hours later, the maester finished and he turned to the audience outside the door. "I've done all I can but I am still uncertain of the extent of the damage. I cannot feel any cracks in Bran's skull but he might be bleeding inside his head. At this point, my healing knowledge is at a loss; it is up to Bran now whether he will live or die. I have some poultices and medicines that can help heal the surface wound. I even have tonics that will speed the healing process and encourage his bones to mend faster. " he said, looking over at the now heavily bandaged head of the young Stark. "But if there's something inside his head that is injured, I cannot do anything about it but wait."

Ranma frowned, cursing the fact that he had never found out a way to use ki to heal other people. He knew it was possible, both Cologne and Dr. Tofu had done it a few times, but Ranma didn't know how to do it. He didn't even have a hint since they had never done it around him after he developed ki sight.

"I'll stay with him." Catelyn said, sitting down in a chair next to the bed, her hand reaching out to grasp her son's limp hand firmly. "I'll watch him and I'll feed him whatever medicines you make, maester."

Ned nodded grimly. He turned to see Ser Jory in the audience and motioned him over. "I want two guards stationed at this door at all times." he ordered. "If someone tried to kill my son because of something he saw, they might try again."

Ser Jory nodded grimly, and moved off to grab two of the guardsmen.

"Bran's direwolf will be back soon, he'll guard the infirmary as well father." Ranma said. Catelyn frowned at that. She always felt a little worried about the direwolves, but their affection toward her children could not be denied, and one of them could be useful.

The crowd began to break up into small clumps, but no one, save Tyrion and Varys, noticed Ser Preston staring hard at the door then at the two guards that were taking up position outside it. He nibbled his lips worryingly, then seemed to have a sudden idea and moved off.

Tyrion followed him with his eyes for a moment before deciding not to indulge his curiosity further, leaving to head to the library, which was rather extensive here in Winterfell. Varys too left, wondering, but his head was already filled with the desperate need to put a spy ring into place here in Winterfell, as there seemed to be many things going on that he was not able to follow.

At Ned's command, Sir Rodrick began to close all the gates of Winterfell, closing all the entrances so that no one could leave. Hopefully this would trap the would-be killer inside. Not fifteen minutes after the group broke up, Ned and Ranma met with Jon, Dacey, and Roger in Ned's study. Ned looked at his 'bastard son' anxiously. "Did you find anything?"

Jon and Roger shared a glance, and Roger spoke for them both. "We did my Lord." Jon reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a very small piece of leather which he opened to show a few short blonde hairs on its inner surface. "We found these up there, and…"

Both men looked over at Dacey, who let out a chuckle, amused by how embarrassed they were at not having recognized the next clue, letting it to her to mention it. "It smelled of sex my lord, that scent you get in a room after two people have been going at it for some time."

Ned and Ranma leaned forward to examine the hairs, and Ned frowned a little. "They're blonde and short but that's about all I can tell about them. They don't seem to match precisely the hair color of anyone I can recognize off hand." _ Not the Queen__'__s, thank the old gods. If this was because of some tryst of the Queen__'__s, that would be a disaster for the kingdom. _"So, Bran caught someone having sex with someone they shouldn't and that was enough reason to assault my son?"

Jon sighed wearily. "From the height that he was pushed, Bran would've been dead or at best crippled for life. Ranma saved him from that, at least. Maybe he'll wake up and be able to tell us who pushed him."

"We'll see." Ranma said grimly. "Head wounds are tricky, remember how Edd was for weeks after that giant caught him a good one. If I've just saved him from instant death but not a slow lingering one, I'm not certain that's any better."

Ned looked over at his son, and frowned slightly seeing a tense readiness in the boy, the need to act, the wolf's blood rising in him with the need to avenge his family. Ned decided, again, not to share the missive from Catelyn's sister, about how there might be something unusual going on with the Lannisters, with Ranma, since he could not, for the life of him, see any connection. He also knew that if Ranma heard even that, he would attack the Lannister party with disastrous consequences.

He sighed tiredly and sat up. "I'm going to go see your mother and Bran. I suggest you four get some sleep."

Ranma frowned, but nodded and Jon, Dacey, and Roger left, leaving him alone with his father. "Does this change your plans, father?"

Ned sighed sadly and shook his head. "No, we still have to leave in four days. To be frank, the King has been away from King's Landing too long already. He should never have made this trip or, if he did, it should've been quick, not this slow procession. By the time he gets back, Robert will have been gone from King's Landing for over three months and that is a dangerous amount of time to leave a power vacuum, even if he has a trusted regent watching the kingdom for him."

Ranma frowned a little. He had heard very mixed reviews about Stannis Baratheon. He seemed a capable sort but a little too stiff and judgmental for Ranma's tastes. Still that didn't matter at the moment and Ranma nodded, then left the room.

OOOOOOO

Ned remained with his wife for the remainder of that evening and well into the night. He didn't even leave the infirmary to have dinner with the King and his party. Under other circumstances, this might have been seen as a gross act of discourtesy, but Robert understood. He didn't like it, but he understood that Ned cared for his family, something Robert had never been able to do with his own children, disappointments the lot of them.

That very night, the Queen's plans began to move while the iron was hot. It was made all the better, in her opinion, because Cersei had merely set it in motion and left the rest of the plan to her pawn.

It was well past midnight when the crackle of flames drew the attention of the guards on the wall in towards the barn. They could see Hodor, who regularly slept out with the horses, racing around pulling horses out of the barn. All of the men who saw the flames began to shout, raising the alarm. Not a moment later, another fire started up in the library nearby.

Ned had been roused from his place by his wife and son by the shouts and raced out, followed by one of the guards, leaving the other behind to guard the door. The moment he was out he began to shout orders, and soon enough two lines of bucket carriers were in place, fighting the fires. The one in the stable set most of it alight, but thanks to Hodor's heroism, which earned him both many claps on the back and burns on his arms, none of the horses died.

The library fire was fought much more easily, and only a few books and a table were lost entirely. However, there was a casualty, the Imp Tyrion. He had apparently been staying up reading in the library. During the work to save the library, he was found by his brother and a few others of the king's party. Tyrion had been knocked out and was bleeding from a gash on the back of his head in a corner when they found him. It was well away from where the fire started, though right next to an open window.

OOOOOOO

All the adults, save Catelyn and her guard, had run out to help, except for Ranma. Ranma was a very heavy sleeper once he got to sleep (a holdover from his past life, much like his liking for fish over red meat), so it took him a while to rouse even with the shouting going on outside. But once he was awake, his first thought was not of the fire, but whether or not the fire had been set by someone for some other reason. So instead of racing outside to help, Ranma made his way down to the infirmary.

It was well he did. The guard, one of the older guards, a fat man named Tomard, had been slain outside the door. Inside someone draped in an all-encompassing black cloak had smashed his mother to the floor and was wielding a longsword at Bran's direwolf pup.

Despite being only the size of a medium sized dog, the direwolf pup was game, snarling and leaping around, trying to get at the man with scant success. His sides were already bleeding from several, albeit superficial, cuts. Catelyn was getting to her feet woozily, her face a mass of black and blue, possibly her jaw broken when Ranma arrived.

The man turned as Ranma roared and charged, raising his blade.

Ranma knocked it to the side with one hand, his leg flashing out in a kick whose strength he had, alas, neglected to pull. His foot slammed into the man with enough force to literally rupture his insides and shatter his ribs while throwing the man through the glass window behind him with a cry of agony. That cry was abruptly silenced when he hit the ground below.

Ranma cursed under his breath, but had no time to spare for the man's fate, kneeling down and examining his mother closely where she had slumped against the side of Bran's bed. Her face was a mass of purple, but her eyes were tracking well, and she stared up at him through her tears, hugging him around his chest. As Ranma's arms went around her he looked over at the direwolf pup and nodded his head. "Good wolf." he murmured reaching out and rubbing the little pup's head affectionately.

The pup subsided, knowing that the alpha was here and would protect him and his chosen partner. He twisted around, licking at his wounds, noticing that his larger brother had now taken up position by the door.

OOOOOOO

By this time the King's men had joined in with the effort to stop the fires and Jamie had found his concussed brother. The Imp looked up at him a little woozily and asked, "I think I had some bad wine brother, do find the innkeeper and flog him for me, would you?"

Jamie chuckled a little dryly at that. "I think not brother, come, we'll get you fixed up." Inside, however, Jaime was wondering what his sister had done or who had set the fires at her behest and why. Further, he wondered when he would get the chance to kill whoever had done this deed for attacking his brother.

The cry from the keep and despairing wail of the man ejected from the infirmary's window, drew the attention of several of the people at the back of the group working on the fires, including Ned and a few others. Ned, fearing the worst, ran inside to check on his wife and son, followed by Dacey. Roger and Jon hurried over to the body of the man who had come through the window quickly, then stopped, staring down at the body. "Bring a torch over here," ordered Jon, looking up as Jaime, carrying his concussed brother and followed by a few others, joined him.

A torch was quickly brought and the group stared down at one of the Kingsguard. His face was a rictus of agony, the chest of his breast plate shattered and warped by a great blow, caving in the chest under it. Jon knelt quickly touching his throat. "Dead." he muttered then stared at the man's head, which was full of blonde hair. "What was this knight's name?"

"Ser Preston Greenfield," Jaime said grimly, "a landless knight from the Stormlands, he was raised to the white for courage shown in the Greyjoy Rebellion." Jaime's free hand, the one not holding his brother up, twitched searching for his sword, which he had left in the barracks set aside for the guests. "He must have been the one who set the fires, and attacked my brother for some reason. Maybe he didn't want witnesses."

"I see…" Jon muttered then nodded over at Roger. "Grab some men and take the body somewhere, I think we just found who pushed Bran from the Broken Tower."

Jaime almost couldn't help himself and nearly sighed in relief as Jon jumped to that conclusion, much like, he was certain, his sweet sister had wanted. Yet, for all that they had been brothers in the Kingsguard, he could not find it in him to mourn Preston's passing. No, the only thing he felt was relief that Cersei's plan seemed to be working, despite the assault on Tyrion.

OOOOOOO

The very next day one of the Queen's hand maidens named Fiona Mescarny, a married woman from a minor house in the Westerlands, came forward with a tearful tale. In front of Lord Stark, his heir, the King and the prince, with the Queen staring hard at her, Fiona explained through tearful sobbing what had happened. She and Ser Preston had been having an affair almost since the king and his party had set out from King's Landing. She had cheated on her husband with him because her husband refused to move to King's Landing with her years ago and it had finally got to her. She hinted however that Preston had broken his vows to take no woman well before their dalliances began.

They had been getting together more and more often, despite her wishing to break things off and that day he had accosted her and taken her up to the tower for some privacy. Bran had come upon them and Preston had panicked, promptly trying to push the boy off the tower, but he had fought back. Fiona had tried to stop him, but Preston had succeeded in pushing the boy off the tower and the two had escaped back to the keep about five minutes before Jon and the other searchers had arrived. She knew nothing about his activity the night before, but it was obvious Preston had attempted to kill the boy who knew his secret.

Cersei promptly dismissed her from the Queen's service, ordering two of the Lannister knights to go with her back to the Western lands that very day. The knights were also under orders to tell her husband of her shame, or so Robert and the others at Winterfell were told. In actuality, Fiona wasn't married, and the two knights would bring her to the Casterly Rock, where she would enter her father's service with a very handsome stipend for lying to the King and everyone else. She turned to the others shaking her head. "I had no idea those two were involved, Fiona has always been most level headed, this affair on her end is quite a shock, though I have had concerns for some months about Preston's reliability."

"He was one of your father's suggestions," Robert growled. "And now look where we are."

"My father knows fighting men, my husband, but he doesn't know how men can weaken overtime when deprived of pleasures of the flesh."

"True, that man isn't one to enjoy a good frolic, I doubt it would even occur to him to think that a man would miss it." Robert frowned, then laughed. "You sure as hell'd never catch me swearing to the white and the whole 'no women' thing!"

The queen smiled thinly, then turned back to look at Eddard and his family. "I hope, Lord Stark, that your son will recover from Ser Preston's mad attempt to keep his name clean."

Ned nodded his head, his face set like stone. "He will survive, though Maester Luwin thinks his brain might be damaged in some way. It could range from short or long term memory loss to becoming as damaged mentally as our stable boy, Hodor. He, he feels it will be closer to the second option than the first." That was a lie, Luwin had no idea where on that spectrum Bran's wound would fall, but Ned feared the worse. That way, he would be pleasantly surprised if anything better happened and prepared for the worst.

Robert sighed sadly as the Queen, hiding her elation with ease shook her head in sorrow. "I'm sorry Ned, I wish we could have seen this coming." He looked at his friend, and shook his head. "It might be kinder to the lad to…"

"Don't," Ned barked. "Don't even suggest it, Robert." He knew where Robert was coming from, but hope sprung eternal, and that was one decision that Ned would never make.

The King subsided, still shaking her head, and the group broke up moments later.

Later that day Ser Preston Greenfield was stripped of his cloak during a ceremony that hadn't been used in over a hundred years, and his family was sent a raven describing his disgrace. His body was burned, a horrible punishment under the Seven, something that was only done to the bodies of oath breakers, then his ashes scattered to the winds in dishonor.

OOOOOOO

Things began to calm down after that, though Varys, for one, was still wondering about why Preston had gone insane. Catelyn, too, was wondering about his guilt, since he was a knight who owed his loyalty originally to house Lannister, the house her sister's message warned her of. Still, no evidence had been found of some larger conspiracy and, that, plus her own injuries, made Catelyn unable to peruse things.

While Ned took Robert out on hunts, the announcement of Sansa and Joffrey being engaged was announced. Ranma tried to get to know the Southerners with scant success, though Ser Barristan seemed to be as interested in him as Ranma was in trying to figure out if there was anything but childish arrogance behind the somewhat mean streak Ranma saw in Joffrey a time or two. In the end, however, he was unable to make a decision just yet, though he kept an eye on Joffrey whenever he was around Sansa.

Ranma was very busy during this time. He spent time with Arya and the other children during the afternoon and trained with Jon and his friends during the mornings, now that Dacey and Roger had recovered. During the evenings, he was forced to join the nightly meals with his father making nice with the King and his party, watching unhappily as the affianced pair of Joffrey and Sansa became closer under the watchful eyes of their families. And at night, he regaled the children with his tales, taken for the most part from simplified versions of his past adventures. This and spending time with them during the afternoon, finished the job of solidifying the younger two royal children's admiration and friendship toward the Stark heir.

But while everyone else slept, Ranma would stay awake, working with his ki. He still wasn't certain what that final barrier had been but he felt maybe it had something to do with need and the body's ability to truly push past its physical limits. After all, a normal human's body couldn't really handle the amount of energy Ranma could put out, so it made sense that the first time you needed to actually project ki there would be a final barrier to it. It was only his desperate need to save his brother that allowed him to finally break through it.

His ki abilities however were still a little strange. For one thing, while he could mold it much more easily, shaping it in his hands and across his skin in a way he had never truly seen before (outside the Sneaky Thief technique, which really wasn't the same) he couldn't project it very easily. Even projecting a single mini Moko Takabashi, a small ki ball the size of his fist, took a lot out of him. What was more, it dissipated quickly, so quickly it very nearly didn't impact the fall wall of his room.

Yet, at the same time, Ranma could imbue any weapon he carried with ki, something that he hadn't really experimented with before this, leaving weapons use to whenever he needed it rather than as a normal portion of his repertoire. In this world of course, that wasn't the case, so he was glad to see it.

In discussions with Maester Luwin over the years, Ranma had discovered that magic was known here, though most in Westeros didn't really put much truck in it. Still projecting magic was known, even if it wasn't normally seen or believed here in Westeros. That told him the magic users here were just that, magic users, not ki users. He still wasn't certain why, what power the wizards called on, or how it differed from his own, but chalked it up to a difference in the way energy worked in this world.

There was one ki attack however that didn't dissipate, primarily, Ranma thought, because it wasn't a simple ki attack, but something that changed from ki to something else the moment it left his hands. The vorpal scythes of the Bold Thief certainly worked, and Ranma caused a bit of a minor mystery among the smallfolk by practicing it out in the woods. As deadly as they were, the blades would be something he would only use as a last resort, but they sure as hell were a nice ace to have, just in case.

Ranma came up with several new techniques to work with the 'limitations'. He also worked with Fenris, trying to figure out their connection. After four days Ranma had figured out what their connection was, and even what it was called: warg. The library had several copies of old tales and odd magics that had been known to the Starks in bygone eras, and the ability to project your consciousness into an animal, warging, had been well known at one point and, indeed, revered before the coming of the Seven. Yet that was only a part of it. A warg's bonded animal, and Fenris was certainly that, took on some of the aspects and personalities of the warg. In Fenris's case, this went even farther, giving the direwolf some of Ranma's abilities, which would make him into a very dangerous animal indeed in the future.

Despite all this, Ranma couldn't help his younger brother. Bran had not yet woken up, though his head wounds seemed to be healing. Catelyn, despite her own injuries (thankfully, her jaw hadn't been broken, but her face was still a mass of bruises) rarely left his side, though Rickon often joined her there.

Yet there was a bit of joy for the family despite Bran's continued convalescence. During his examination of her, Maester Luwin announced that Catelyn was pregnant once more and even through the bruises on her face, those around her could tell she was radiant with joy at the prospect. Sansa and the others were all happy about the idea of having another sibling. Ned, however, was sad at the idea of missing the birth, but Robert had promised he would have time off when the moment came.

Ranma looked away from his mother, Sansa, and Arya gleefully speculating with about what gender the baby would be. When he did so, he noticed the Queen, who was staring at Catelyn. Just then, her eyes were not a pleasant sight, and Ranma wondered why.

Dacey and Jon had taken over watching Rickon outside the training area where Ranma had begun to put Arya through even more training. Tommen sometimes joined in, but he was still too young to really see the point to it. When Ranma left Dacey and Jon would continue her training.

Seeing that Bran hadn't woken, Robert had made the decision to return to King's Landing, and Ned and Ranma would be with him. Four days after everything with Preston had happened, the King's party began to make preparations to leave, while more and more men began to arrive for the trip to the Wall.

Fully two thousand men of House Stark and their vassals would head north, under the command of Lord Cerwyn, who would bring a further eight hundred men, once they left . Cerwyn was the closest noble house to Winterfell (their castle was actually only half a day's ride away), and despite the fact that had no heir of an appropriate age to have joined the wolf sworn, the relationship between Cerwyn and Stark had been close for centuries. Cley, the young son, was Brandon's age, much like Jojen Reed, and would be coming to Winterfell with Lady Jonelle, the only daughter of Lord Cerwyn. She would remain with Catelyn and provide another mothering figure to Rickon and Arya, with their own mother too preoccupied with Bran to watch them.

Others too were preparing for both trips.

OOOOOOO

"So here you are, dear brother. What in the world has you so fascinated in this library? You're usually too busy studying practical anatomy to waste on actual book reading. After that incident a few days ago, I would think you would distance yourself from it." Jaime smirked staring down at his younger and far smaller brother, who was sitting in front of three open books and had a large pad of parchment in front of him covered with sketches he had apparently made himself.

Tyrion looked up at Jaime and laughed lightly, though his eyes were unwontedly serious. "Ah, I can always take up my favorite field of study whenever I wish, though at this point I am more the maester than the student. As for my attack, well, Ranma Stark put paid to my attacker and the reasons behind that attack are simple to see." He shrugged. "I merely was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Jaime saw something in his brother's expression, something that told him that Tyrion had his own ideas about why Preston had done what he did. Still Tyrion wasn't saying anything and Jaime decided to let sleeping lions lie. "So, what are you here searching for?"

"Purpose." Tyrion said, enigmatically. At Jaime's confused look, he smiled but went on more seriously than normal, baring more of his soul than he would to anyone else. "You know that I am not in line for Casterly Rock, no matter what all happens. I've always sort of followed you and Cersei around, trying to keep you out of trouble." Jaime laughed loudly, and Tyrion smirked. "And getting into trouble on my own, it must be admitted. Yet, I haven't ever really done anything with my life up to this point, nothing that would have people look at me and see beyond the Lannister name and see me as more than the Imp. I might be able to, if I go to the Wall."

Tyrion gestured at the papers in front of him, where he had sketched out hundreds of designs for various siege weapons, including one whose size and scale made Jaime's eyes widen. "The library here had a copy of the siege weapons the Wall has; all of them are old, most will probably break if they are actually used, and none of them are able to be aimed outside of a very small area. I'm good with designing, with fulcrum and levers. I can possibly update the Wall's weapons, so much that maybe, if the wildlings do attack, we can slaughter them so badly they will never attempt to attack the Wall ever again. And maybe that way, I can be known for something other than whoring or japes or being the Imp of the Lannisters."

Jaime frowned, but couldn't say anything to that, and at last sighed. "So I take it, you mean to continue on to the Wall as you wanted back in King's Landing?"

"I do." his brother replied firmly. "I'll be heading up with the men Lord Stark is sending from Winterfell in a few weeks." He smiled suddenly. "Of course, until then I'll be able to continue sampling the wares of the whore house here. There's this one woman, my god the thing she can do with her tongue…"

The Kingslayer laughed as the conversation turned to a much more familiar topic. Yet somehow, Jaime knew that once they parted, it would be many years before Jaime and Tyrion saw one another again, if they ever did.

OOOOOOO

Lord Varys frowned for a moment before dismissing the maid who had just passed on an 'interesting', bit of information. She was one of only three agents he would be leaving here, his efforts to recruit local talent having failed miserably. The smallfolk and servants of Winterfell were almost nauseatingly loyal to House Stark, and not a one of them was willing to spy on them for him.

Moreover, he hadn't been able to recruit any of the whores in town or even find any urchins to recruit. There were very few urchins at all here in the North, where if you didn't have a home or roof over your head you quickly died from the weather. Added to this, children were precious, and any foundling was quickly taken in by one family or another. The whores, however, had simply refused him flat out. The ones born in the North shared in the same belief in loyalty, and those from farther south knew that their fellows would rip them apart should they try to spy on Winterfell for him.

That wasn't good, yet on the whole, it was possibly better than what the information the maid had just given him implied.

"The prince is hiring a footpad, to what end? And is it part and parcel with why the Queen was talking to Ser Preston before his aborted attempt to finish the task he started on the boy? Or was it someone else that was seen by the boy?" Varys muttered to himself, then shook it off. _ Regardless, _he thought to himself, _things are shifting and I mean to be on the winning side, whatever happens. _

OOOOOOO

The night before the King's party (and additions) was set to leave Winterfell, Jon and Ranma sat in his room, sharing a skin of ale and a plate of roasted chicken instead of being down at the last feast. Both of them were rather feasted out, and Ranma, who had excused himself from his position as host as soon as he could, shook his head. "I don't envy you or the castellan the task of figuring out how much putting the King and his party up here cost us."

"I don't envy **you**, having to keep dealing with him. I had heard so many stories about Robert as a young man, what's become of him is rather sad to see." Jon replied then took a gulp from the ale skin, staring across their plates at his brother.

Ranma saw his look and shrugged. "Unless you see some way of convincing both our parents that I shouldn't go, I don't see a way I could get out of it. Both going south at all and the whole marriage thing." That still left a bad taste in his mouth, given all the problems he ran into in his previous life through arranged marriages. Part of him had thought to use that as an excuse to at least get their father on his side, but it would have been cowardly and probably not worked in any event.

"No, there's more to it than that. There's a… it's…" Jon faltered, trying to put his feelings about the King's party, all of the party into words. "There's something wrong, I can't describe it better. It's like there are undercurrents all the time, and we can't see them, but…"

"I know," Ranma replied. "I can feel it too at times, I just wish I knew where it was all coming from." Ranma had an idea it came from the pretty obvious discord between the King and the Queen, but was that all of it, or were there deeper currents here, deeper meanings or ambitions at play? Ranma just didn't have the ability to tell. "And then there's Varys the eunuch, who's playing his own game, at least I think so, and Joffrey being an utter little shit, and the fact the Kingsguard are packed with scumbags. Yeah, this trip will be a real barrel of fun. At least Tommen and Myrcella are nice, good kids. And I'll be able to see Meera and Jojen again on the way down. Maybe even stop in and see grandfather Tully, I've never met the man after all."

Jon simply stared at Ranma through narrow eyes and eventually Ranma sighed. "I know, don't worry I remember the vision all too well. Betrayal and human enemies were a part of it. I'll be on the lookout."

His brother nodded, and then asked, "What do you want me to do here? Any special suggestions or ideas?"

Ranma frowned but then nodded decisively. "Once we're gone, make certain that any of the men and women from the King's party that have decided to stay are what they say they are. Varys the Spider was along for a reason and just because he serves the crown doesn't mean shit to us. After that, concentrate on making certain the logistics of providing for the Night Watch and the men sent north are as good as we can make them. Be ready for anything is the best I can tell you outside of that. My gut is telling me that the Wall will be hard pressed but the real blow may come from somewhere else, so try to prepare to react somewhere else just in case. Still you'll have our friends to help there, and of course, Tyrion too."

"That wasn't as much advice as I could have wished. Still I actually like the Imp," Jon admitted. "He's an amusing fellow and extremely quick-witted even outside of his jokes. I wasn't prepared to like any Lannister, but for him I'll make an exception."

"I like him too, though I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw the king, that man's mind and tongue makes him dangerous out of all proportion to his physical size. Still, he wants to prove himself, that will probably make him trustworthy as long as he can make an impact on the Wall's defense. But putting that aside… there's something else you and our other siblings should know, about our connection to our direwolves, something I found out recently. You know how I was trying to train you and the others to sense out your partner's feelings? Well it turns out…"

That conversation lasted well into the night, and while Jon was more than a little freaked out by the idea of being a warg, he was also intrigued by it. He vowed to try and see if he could figure out how to do it consciously, like Ranma was trying to do. He also vowed to keep up his exercises and training Arya, then, as it was late bid his brother a good evening.

Ranma had spent about five minutes clearing up the refuse of their late repast when he looked up smiling faintly but warmly at a very quiet knock on his door. He moved to it swiftly and opened it silently, bidding Dacey to enter.

She had to wait until everyone, even the King was ready to leave the party, causing enough confusion so that no one would be able to realize she had made her way up to the Stark's personal quarters. She had nearly been caught a few times, but had made it without anyone spotting her.

Ranma smiled and moved back to sit on the bed, looking at her as she moved around his quarters, smiling faintly at the small items and pictures, many of which she could tell were made by his siblings. The rest made by the smallfolk, either commissioned by his father or gifts. "Did you and Jon have a nice talk? You exited the feast so quickly it was rather amusing to see, though thankfully the King was too far into his cups to take offense."

"We did, I hope you and the others are able to help Jon through the trials ahead. He'll have my lady mother as an adviser of course, as well as Ser Rodrick and others, but he'll need you all to lean on. Just as I would've if I were staying."

Dacey smiled, but her mind was on other things. "And with you going south this is our last night together, possibly ever, if you come back married." Her breaches and shirt quickly fell to the floor, leaving her standing there naked facing him. Despite being a warrior Dacey had full, heavy breasts with dark nipples. Besides her breasts, there was little in the way of softness about her and her body was covered with the scars of battle, yet for all that she was still extremely attractive.

Ranma smiled, standing up and moving toward her, his eyes showing his desire clearly. "Then I think we should make the most of it…" After that his lips were on hers, and there was no more talking that night. No coherent talking anyway.

OOOOOOO

The next day, Ranma sat on a horse next to his father and surrounded by fifty of their guardsmen, staring back down the road to Winterfell. Catelyn hadn't even left Bran's side to wish them farewell as she normally would if her son or husband left, but she had been tearful in her farewells in the infirmary, putting up with considerable pain in her face from the tears as she hugged them both farewell.

Ranma, his friends and siblings had wished each other farewell, though thankfully, only Rickon had cried and that when he learned that both Ranma and Ned would be leaving. Theon looked a little worried for Ranma going south, and worried too about staying, with Jon in charge generally speaking and without Ranma there to provide a buffer between them. Arya was sad to see Ranma and her father leaving, but was consoled by Ranma whispering about a present for her hidden under his bed, that she should retrieve and under no circumstances show their mother. It was actually from both him and Jon, with Jon having paid for it, but Ranma having designed it, and Jon would be training her in the use of her present in the days to come.

Dacey and Ranma hadn't bothered with anything more than the handclasp between warriors in front of the others, much as he had with Roger and Jon. Both of them had known that their relationship would never go anywhere. Neither had been romantically interested in one another, it had been merely a physical thing, more an offshoot of their friendship and Dacey's interest in Ranma's physical abilities.

Roger would be leaving for his family's castle that afternoon with Osha going with him. With the decision to leave House Ryswell mostly out of the whelming being sent to the Wall, she didn't actually need to but the two of them had come to something of a… 'understanding'. With Roger being the second son of the family, he was somewhat freer to make such arrangements than his brother Rickard. Rickard was three years older than Roger, and while nowhere near the warrior Roger was, he was a consummate manager of both land and people and was well up to ruling their house's land after their father passed.

That had been over an hour ago, and now the King's party passed the two Stark men as they sat on their horses, unable to look away from their home. Sansa didn't have the same trouble, and was in the carriage with the queen and the two younger Baratheon children. Joffrey rode at his father's order, an attempt to, in Robert's words 'toughen the brat up'.

Fenris whined a little, a sound that made several of the horses around them shy away from the direwolf, whose head was now on the level of Ranma's waist standing on his own two feet.

Ned looked down at the wolf, smiling faintly. "I think your friend there doesn't like the fact you're riding rather than running with him."

"Oh, I have no doubt I'll be running at some point during this trip. Before or after I meet my prospective bride is the question. Or maybe after we get to court. I'm not really built for court intrigue or politics you know." Ranma smirked, looking over at his father while leaning down to pet Fenris's head.

"Ha, and you think I am? Besides lad, Margaery Tyrell is supposed to be a beautiful young girl."

"It wasn't her looks I was worried about." Ranma replied dryly, and father and son exchanged shrugs, neither of them knowing anything much about Margaery, though Ned knew her father somewhat. He just hoped the daughter was her own person rather than a female version of her father.

_Even a younger version of Lady Olenna would be better than that, _Ned thought to himself. _After all, Ranma will need to marry to someone who has a good grasp of politics. As much as I hate them, I know that politics and diplomacy are important. _ "Well on that score, we'll just have to see. Hopefully things will work out."

There Ned was talking about more than the possible match between Ranma and Margaery. He once more vowed to talk to his son about his concerns in regards to the Lannisters if they ever found any evidence that the crazy message from Lysa had any basis in fact. He couldn't afford to have Ranma act precipitously, and he knew that Ranma would act if he had even a hint that the Lannisters were planning anything that could harm his family.

"NED!" Robert bellowed, laughing loudly from the front of the column. "Quit your wool gathering and get over here!"

Ranma and Ned looked at one another, then back at Winterfell, before turning away, wondering when they would return, and what the future held for them and their family.

End chapter

* * *

Here is my second chapter of this story, which has continued my changing of canon, and expanded on some points raised in the first chapter. Expect the White Walkers to be major players, though they will keep their visible forces to a minimum, husbanding them until the coming of winter, which will be long and dark indeed.

I should warn you all that I might be kinder to Cersei than to Jaime, but the Lannisters are going to be slowly wiped out (just like in canon only the Starks don't join them). I have always felt a little sorry for Cersei, and in this work she won't be as blind to Joffrey's insanity as in the original, but will be unable, as in the original to truly control him. 'It must be hard for any woman to realize she birthed a monster.' And well, Joffrey will be Joffrey, 'nough said. Jaime on the other hand, I've never liked.

Her other children however are just that, children. Here you see them respond to an older brother figure that doesn't care about being seen as childish or anything like that, and who treats them kindly. Myrcella is too young to be in the pairing, but she will develop a crush on Ranma. In terms of age, btw I added two years to everyone's starting age. The very idea of kids as young as thirteen being married off offends my modern sensibilities. I know that in terms of the story being set in the equivalent of the Middle Ages this is wrong, but I just can't write lemons for characters that are that young, sorry to all you purists. On the other hand, I might be open to a well-reasoned argument that can convince me to replace Arianne or Margaery with Myrcella in the far future. After all there is far larger difference between 10 and 16 then there is 18 and 24 (objectively speaking obviously). But like I said, it would have to be a **very** well- reasoned argument.

To recap, the North is more united and stronger in the main than in the original, but will have divided priorities which will force it to keep more of it's strength home whatever happens south. Stannis will have no need however to head to the Wall to aid the Night Watch. Jon will be Steward to the Starks for a time, and have his own issues and adventures (no learning ki for a few years at best, sorry) so that I can make him stand out in his own way rather than being in Ranma's shadow, and Tyrion won't be returning south anytime soon and will play a major role in the battles of the Wall, though he won't be seen for a chapter or two. Theon was left behind too, and whether he'll be making trouble or what have you is still up in the air. Very much waffling on what to do with him, but leaning towards** not **redeeming him. Again, if you have strong feelings either way, tell me.

Ranma has gone with his father south to King's landing to meet his fiancée. Oh, and no Arya coming south with them, I always felt her reason for going south was so stupid it isn't even a very good plot device no matter what adventures she had later on. So no Arya the assassin, which I have always despised, Arya the warrior fine, not Arya the assassin, the killer in the dark. Going forward she will start to be a 'perspective character' just like Tyrion and Jon, don't worry Arya lovers. She just needs a bit more seasoning. She and Jon and even Tyrion for a bit will become prespective characters in the next chapter.

No, Ranma won't be joining the Kingsguard. I have other plans in mind for him.

Now a quick question: Should I kill off Gregor Clegane quickly and publicly or wait to kill him of in battle? Either or, he is going to die by Ranma's hand.

Lemons? Yes/no? Honestly could go either way, though don't expect me to attempt to match the original style or the times.


End file.
